


Old Gods and New Stars

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (vague spoilers tho), Canon-Typical Violence, Childbirth, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rating May Change, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, Virgin Birth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: Byleth struggles to adjust to her new role as archbishop and her burgeoning feelings for her faithful advisor as she is met with world-altering change.Sothis was gone, but there is something else inside of her.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 213
Kudos: 376





	1. The Afternoon Sun

**Author's Note:**

> The author is dumb and Catholic and also wanted to write a babyfic, so of course this had to happen. I apologize in advance.  
> I meant to start posting this on Easter Sunday because *Symbolism*, but in light of current events, I figure this would be as good a time as any to start posting.  
> [Big thanks to Hasine for looking this over!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hansine)  
> Enjoy!

A wet, warm rain whipped at the closed window as Byleth hunched over her desk.

Nearly a year after Enbarr's fall, Byleth found herself heading the Church of Seiros. Her students had scattered to the wind in their post-war world, leaving her to rebuild what was to be, one again, the backbone of Fódlan.

Rhea had given her limited information in her infirmity and subsequent retirement. Byleth wasn’t sure if the woman still remained in her villa on the outskirts of Garreg Mach, but didn’t look to check. Byleth wasn’t a child, needing to seek out constant supervision and guidance. Seteth provided that in spades, supporting her when she often stumbled. Something always came up, never allowing for a slow day.

She tapped her quill on the page, savoring the last dregs of her cup of tea.

The quill skittered when a flutter radiated from her stomach outwards. A surprised hitch of breath escaped her mouth before she could check it.

“Are you alright?”

Byleth pursed her lips at the garish mark in her page before looking up at the man who sat across from her. Seteth watched her with piercing eyes.

“Perfectly fine,” she said. “A sudden chill is all. You were saying?”

Seteth nodded. “As you know, the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth is later this month. The week before, you are expected to speak to the followers of the Church. You are to stand on the balcony, while the people watch from the courtyard.”

Byleth couldn’t remember Rhea doing that, but at that point, she just followed along to what Seteth said. She wavered, remembering how Rhea had watched her from the same balcony when she first arrived at Garreg Mach.

She wasn’t exactly someone of many words. Giving lectures to her students drained her enough. She definitely didn't sign up to be Rhea’s successor in anticipation of speaking in front of thousands of people.

“This is the first Rite of Rebirth at Garreg Mach since the war,” Byleth murmured.

Seteth nodded. “Yes. We have called believers from across the continent to join us in celebration of the Church’s survival and of our victory against the Empire.”

Byleth swallowed. That only put more anxiety on her. Since the Enbarr fell, everything seemed to have more weight and more importance. Every holiday and ceremony had more pomp than what she remembered.

This time, instead as vaguely-confused observer, she facilitated those ceremonies as the Church’s leader. Now, they came upon most important of all, and all would judge her for her shortcomings.

Pushing that sudden anxiety from her mind, her eyes were drawn to the man sitting on the other side of her desk.

Seteth didn't wear the ring she gave him. Not that she expected him, since she all but threw it at him before the battle at Enbarr, heat around her ears and unwilling to hear any arguments from him about how inappropriate the gift was.

The incident had largely been forgotten by the final battle and the aftermath. She almost hoped that he would forget, but she also hoped that her gift at least made him happy. She didn't even know if the ring fit him. That was an oversight on her part. Maybe she could provide a chain so he could wear it around his neck? There was no way that she could give it to him without further embarrassing herself, but if it had to be done, it had to be done.

“Archbishop?”

Right. Meeting. Had to pay attention. That knowledge kept her from thinking too much into how Seteth wouldn’t use her name.

“Ah, yes. Will I be expected to prepare my own remarks?” she asked.

Seteth stared at her. “I—I could prepare a speech for you, if you desire.”

She shrugged, already imagining what kind of mess she would make if she wrote a speech by herself. “I could barely get through my statement after succeeding Rhea. I’ll buy that tea you like if it convinces you.”

Seteth crossed his arms over his chest. “Very well, but I must insist that you buy the tea from the shopkeeper Teller on the outskirts of Garreg Mach, not the merchant that comes from southern Fódlan.”

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. A small negotiation for a bribe, though uncharacteristically picky. “Deal, but may I ask why?”

“That merchant must cut the leaves with some cheap stuff,” he sniffed. “Teller is the only one I trust with my tea.”

Thinking back, she bought most of her tea from the southern merchant. She couldn’t tell any difference, if there were any impurities. Then again, if there was tea in front of her, she would drink it. If there was food in front of her, she would eat it. There was some pleasure in it, but she didn’t have any particular affinity to a flavor.

Clearly, Seteth had noticed the difference, every time they had tea together. She pulled out all the stops for him, but apparently, it wasn’t to his satisfaction.

“So, all the times we’ve had tea together, we’ve been using sub-par tea,” she said flatly. “You never thought to tell me?”

Seteth shifted in his chair. “I thought it would be rude to correct you. Besides, our tea time didn’t really need the perfect tea anyway.”

It shouldn’t have made her feel relieved, but it did. “So, the tea didn’t completely ruin the experience?”

“Not at all. But, if I am to host you for tea, Archbishop, I would only like to serve the best tea.”

“Oh? I thought this would be a gift for you, not for me.”

Now, they were both blushing. Utterly strange, since Byleth was sure that Seteth saw her only as a friend. Maybe she was embarrassing him, making him feel uncomfortable.

“I will enjoy some of it alone, but I like to share tea with those I am close to.”

She opened her mouth to mention that Flayn was a candidate for tea time, but she was en route to Almyra. Seteth worried aloud about her condition constantly, sending flurries of letters to check on her.

Flayn did her best to assuage Seteth’s fears, but the letters she sent Byleth made it clear that her father was making things more stressful than they were. She didn’t even dare tell Seteth her true reason for visiting Almyra to begin with.

Byleth kept her romance with Claude a secret. They needed the help of the former Alliance territories and it would do them no good if Seteth flew over and murdered their greatest representative for both Almyra and the Alliance.

“Very well, for your sake and mine, I will get some proper tea.”

“Surely you should send someone out to do this errand for you.”

Byleth paused, tilting her head in confusion. “Why not?”

“It would be dangerous for someone of your position.”

She supposed he had a point. While she was a professor at Garreg Mach, she could move freely, less so during the war. There had been a couple weeks between war’s end and her official appointment when she could visit where she wanted as normal, with the exception of the constant accolades for being a war hero.

Now, she was valuable. There was really no succession that she knew of if something happened to her. Seteth would be the most obvious.

Clearly, he wanted her alive to keep from assuming that kind of power. That always perplexed her. He was the obvious choice to be Rhea’s successor, but he was by her side instead.

“If you think my going alone is dangerous, you should come with me.”

“Fine.”

She sputtered, wide-eyed. “I didn't think you would actually accept.”

“Already regret it?” Seteth sniped back. His eyes glimmered with mirth, taking the bite away from his words.

“No. We could go between lunch and our afternoon meetings. Tuesday, perhaps?”

She already knew that she was going to be slammed with work and she was sure that there was a meeting that she couldn't remember. She didn't particularly care.

“Very well. I shall leave you to your paperwork.”

Byleth sighed comically. “Very well. I shall bear the burden, for both our sakes.”

Seteth rose from his chair and collected his papers. She tried not to stare too intensely at his form as he bowed in respect.

“Archbishop.”

She nodded back, lips quirking. She wasn’t going to tease him about his use of titles. It was out of respect, but it harkened back to a time when he would refer to her only as ‘Professor’ and always in such a disapproving and detached tone.

“My advisor.”

He shut the door with a click and she sagged in her seat.

* * *

Tuesday came with a mountain of paperwork.

Imperial sympathizers had been causing trouble, enough for the decision to fall on Byleth’s desk on whether or not she would authorize military action.

The thought turned her stomach. She fought war, but she never wanted to wage it. Edelgard was dead, but there were still those who believed in her message. She wished she could leave them be with their ideology, but people were dying on the outskirts of Enbarr. She wouldn’t be allowed to stand by idly.

It felt like a death knell as she sent the courier away with the signed orders. She could protect her students, even save them from imminent death. She couldn't do the same for the troops she was sending to fight.

She kissed babies and offered blessings, but with that same mouth and hands, she condemned people to death. Rhea seemed to do it with little guilt, but Byleth had her reservations.

After wolfing down a quick lunch, she walked to the monastery gates.

There were respectful bows and hushed whispers as she passed people in the halls. She wasn’t the outsider anymore, the mercenary turned professor, but she was still distinguished from everyone else: Ashen Demon, Archbishop, touched by the Goddess.

She suppressed a shiver as she stepped out from the entrance hall. It had been an uncharacteristically rainy summer. She pulled her woven cloak around herself and yanked the hood over her head.

“Good afternoon, gatekeeper.”

The man at the entrance straightened with a grin. “Good afternoon, milady! Nothing to report.”

Byleth hummed. “It’s nice to not always be on guard, isn’t it?”

She slept through the first five years of the war. She couldn't imagine what it was like for him to watch everything crumble around him and be forced to flee for his life. Despite everything, he had returned to his post. Byleth wasn’t so sure that she would have the same conviction if she were in his position.

He shrugged. “I try to stay on guard, no matter what. We aren’t completely safe just because the war is over.”

She felt the weight of her dagger and sword on her hips and knew that there was truth in his words.

The merchants eyed her greedily in the little marketplace, clearly expecting her to approach. She felt some remorse that she wouldn’t be providing them her business, but she knew that there would be many days to come that she would visit their stalls.

She heard the clanging of armor before she saw it. Fear and anticipation clutched at her throat as she turned towards the sound, only to relax. Seteth approached in his usual dark-blue coat, the only change the grey cloak pinned at his throat. Behind him, six knights filed in.

“Archbishop.”

She couldn't help but smile.

“Seteth. Punctual as always. Is this our escort?”

“Yes. They will be guarding us on our walk to the shop.”

Byleth tilted her head, regarding the armored figures and then out towards the outer gates. “Since you were so concerned about my safety, I was expecting a carriage, to be honest.”

Seteth pulled his hood over his head, unsuccessfully hiding a smile. “Which you would have refused, so I did not bother. Shall we?”

He wasn’t wrong. He really did know her well. Mentally cheering herself for wearing durable boots, they started down the road with their guard in tow.

They walked side by side. The roads were still drying from the earlier rains, mud flecking their boots.

“Have you received the report on Coronth?”

Byleth’s mouth twisted. “Yes. I already authorized that we send some soldiers to guard the city. I know Rhea would have been harsher, but I—I don’t think I could do it.”

Rhea would have ordered the full force of the Church to come down on whatever camps lay outside of the city limits. She probably would have had the forests burned to smoke them out.

“I understand that Rhea’s methods are harsh," he allowed.

“We were the ones to put down these skirmishes, before the war. I wonder if the war would have happened if we let those who disagreed with the church just be.”

Seteth’s jaw clenched. “The Empire would have seen that as weakness, perhaps hastening the war.”

Byleth nodded, glancing away from him. He led the church in the five years that Rhea was missing and Byleth was in that ravine. He had little love for the Empire, if any at all. She wondered, if he were in her position, would he have been just as harsh with the Imperial sympathizers as Rhea?

Now, she was sickened by war, though it had formed the backbone of most of her life.

Looking to Seteth almost made that disgust clearer. She watched him die too many times at the hands of the Empire, only for it to be wiped away from history. Bile rose to her throat at the thought: arrows in his chest, an ax cleaved through his shoulder, his unconscious form tumbling from his wyvern to hit the ground with a sickening thud. All undone, but she remembered.

Every member of her class had fallen in similar ways, only to be undone. She couldn’t go through that again. She couldn’t.

“They are in capable hands. The townspeople are friendly to the Church. They have a well-kept shrine there.”

It didn’t bring as much reassurance as she was sure Seteth intended. Hidden blades and repressed bitterness still remained, easily unleashed on those unsuspecting.

The conversation ended as soon as they approached the town. This was no place to talk about internal business out in the open.

Just as in the monastery, they immediately drew the eyes of the people milling about. Those milling about parted in front of the two guards that lead the little parade, looking to see who of note graced the town.

“It's the Archbishop!”

“May your reign be prosperous!”

“Our liberator!”

Byleth looked to the patched-up and still-damaged buildings. She wasn’t sure how much of a liberator she was. This happened because of her failure. If she hadn’t fallen, if she had checked Edelgard when she had the chance, years of suffering could have been avoided. Despite the rough patches in some buildings, it seemed like it was business as usual.

They continued on and the guards tightened their formation. They didn’t reach for their weapons, but Byleth knew that they were looking to the terraces and into the crowd.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and fell on a young woman with a bundle tucked close to her chest. A tiny hand stuck out from the fabric, reaching up towards the woman's face.

Something clutched at her chest, making her falter. Was this longing, for something she never got to have? She didn’t get to be a child in her mother's arms. Or, was it something deeper than that?

Seteth caught her sleeve, turning his head to follow her gaze. She jerked away, looking up at him to see his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Archbishop, we shouldn’t linger.”

“Of course,” Byleth replied.

The mother had eyes only for her child, as if the spectacle mere feet from her didn't exist. Byleth sighed and that strange feeling lingered as they continued down the road.

“We are close,” Seteth murmured.

For a moment, she had forgotten why they had left the monastery. She blinked blankly at the stone road and up to Seteth, who stared forward as her guide. Tea and a favor, of course. Her coin purse was heavy in her pocket. She knew how much the merchant in the courtyard charged for Seteth’s preferred kind of tea, but had no idea how much this new merchant sold it.

She just grabbed a couple handfuls of gold coins and hoped that it would be enough.

“The guy’s name is Teller, right?” Byleth whispered.

“Yes. His shop is just down this street.”

The two guards in front stopped at a shop. The storefront was freshly painted and the windows were clean. It was as if the war had completely spared it.

Planters hung in front of the windowsills, full of bright flowers. They had survived the late chill, flourishing with the plentiful rain.

“Wait outside,” Seteth ordered to the group of guardsmen.

After a series of nods, Byleth followed Seteth through the door. She pulled off her hood and looked around. Candlelight

A grey-haired man bowed over the front counter, wiping off dust.

“May I help you?” he murmured.

Seteth paused just before the counter, Byleth at his shoulder, and cleared his throat.

The man looked up with an annoyed pinch in his brow before he saw who stood before him. A gasp escaped his mouth as he moved around the counter to stop a few feet away from them.

Teller bowed low.

“What an honor to have the Archbishop grace my shop.”

Seteth stepped forward, reaching out his hand for Teller to shake. “Indeed. It is good to see you, Teller.”

Teller took up his hand eagerly, tapping his other hand on Seteth’s. “Ah, yes, my friend. I have missed you.”

Byleth arched a brow. “Didn’t think you two were so friendly, Seteth.”

“Of course!" Teller exclaimed. "This man is my favorite customer.”

There was a pause. Teller looked expectantly between the two of them and Byleth was at a loss for words. She didn't know that Seteth and Teller were so well-acquainted and there was something starstruck in Teller’s eyes when he looked at her, or perhaps analyzing. He was probably thinking what he could try to sell her and how much profit he could make before she left his store.

Teller cleared his throat before addressing Seteth. “Now that the trade embargoes have been lifted, I have plenty of new products for your consideration, my friend.”

Seteth nodded. “Of course.” He made a cursory glance before starting down one of the aisles. Clearly, he knew where he was going.

Byleth lingered at the front and leaned towards Teller. “How did Seteth become your favorite customer?” she asked.

She didn't think Seteth had many friendships outside of the monastery halls, if at all. He had his rapport with some of her students, but that was the extent. What about this store had Seteth attached to it?

Teller glanced at Seteth’s back as the man moved further into the back of the store.

“He has helped me with connections throughout Fódlan to get the best products within miles.”

She supposed that someone in Seteth’s position would know farmers and miners far and wide from keeping the monastery running. He must have some trust in Teller if he gave any kind of information to an outsider.

“Does he come in often?” she asked.

“Not as much anymore, but when he does, he doesn’t hold back.”

Byleth’s gaze snapped to Teller before she could check herself. “Hold back? How so?”

Teller looked over her shoulder to see if Seteth was still in the back. The store was dimly lit, so it was hard to tell shadow from person.

“He has expensive tastes, my Lady,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Teas and fabric, but sometimes jewelry.”

“Jewelry?” Byleth echoed.

“It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes something catches his eye. He’ll stare and stare at it, as if imagining a lover wearing that piece of gold or silver.”

Byleth wasn’t jealous of the idea, she wasn’t, but something sour settled in the pit of her stomach. “I see,” she murmured, turning her attention to the bunches of carefully cut and bound bunches of herbs on the counter. The neat labels named varieties she knew from her time cooking in the dining hall, and some she had never heard before.

“What is this one?”

She picked up one of the sprigs and brought it to her nose. It was pungent and strong enough to sting her eyes, but not unpleasantly so.

“Azurel. It’s good for treating nausea, headaches. I even hear it’s good for energy as well. Just nibble on a leaf or two.”

“Doesn’t look like it will last for long," Byleth said, noting how few leaves clung to the sprig.

“Oh, you plant it and have a constant supply.”

Byleth gave it one last sniff before setting back with the other bunches.

“I might have to return for it, later.”

It was the polite thing to say. There were plenty of things similar in the greenhouses, but she didn't want to offend him.

She waited at the counter, looking at the baskets full of quaint oddities. A draft stirred a wind chime hanging from the ceiling, filling the space with faint music.

Seteth finally met her with two wrapped packages of tea.

“Alright, that’s twenty gold pieces for the two.”

Byleth refused to comment that the merchant in the monastery courtyard sold the same tea at half the price. Instead, she pulled out her wallet and shook out the gold pieces into her palm. She counted ten and ten, setting them in stacks on the counter.

Teller’s brows shot up in shock. “Having our good Lady pay for your things, Seteth?”

Byleth smiled. “It is in repayment for a favor. Besides, he promised me a cup of that tea.”

That seemed to satisfy Teller. “I see. I was worried that he had hit his head, since dear Seteth is normally the pinnacle of well-mannered men.”

She nodded with a quirk of the lips; she couldn't agree more with him.

An embarrassed flush colored Seteth’s cheeks as he muttered, “Alright, that’s enough of that, Teller.” He reached across to add a couple more gold pieces to the pile. “For Rosen and the cats.”

Teller grinned, not bothering to recount the coins Byleth set on the counter. “Thank you, Seteth. Thank you, my Lady. I hope to see you again soon.”

Byleth nodded respectfully before again following Seteth. She blinked at the afternoon sun.

“Let’s hurry back to the monastery. I have a feeling we are both late for our meetings.”

There was a bakery across the street that looked very appealing, but she suppressed the temptation.

“Can’t keep company waiting," she murmured, unable to hide her disappointment.

The guards parted the crowds, which had grown since they went into the store. As they retraced their steps, Byleth glanced back to see people spilling into Teller’s store. He was going to have a lucrative day.

Now, their guards were more alert, checking if enemies had set up in their path upon word of their arrival.

She didn't see any weapons on Seteth, but something told her that he would be able to hold his own. Seteth could wield an ax with deadly efficiency, even without his wyvern. One of the guards had an ax strapped to his back along with the sword on his hip, as if ready to hand to Seteth should the need arise.

“Can I see what I just spent 20 gold coins on?” she asked, chasing the violent thoughts from her mind.

Seteth pulled out one of the wrapped packages and handed it to her.

She weighed it, surprised by how heavy it was. The tea was wrapped in clean white paper with a golden logo pressed to the paper, binding it closed.

“Well, it definitely looks better than what the merchant in the marketplace sells,” she sighed.

She pressed the paper to her nose and inhaled. She immediately pulled away, sneezing and sputtering as her nose tingled.

“That’s strong!”

Byleth pushed the package back into Seteth’s hand, wiping her nose with her free hand.

“You need only a few leaves to brew a perfect cup of tea,” Seteth said. “More than a few leaves makes the tea unbearable. These two packages should last us for a long time.”

She didn't look to see if he was laughing at her.

While their walk was uphill, their return seemed so quick. Before she knew it, they were through the monastery gates, ending their little trek. She couldn’t help but feel sad that it would be back to business as usual.

“Will you be meeting with Judith?” Seteth asked as they entered the hall.

The warmth from the fireplaces melted her cold cheeks and she took a moment to catch her breath.

“Yes. Claude is playing things close to the chest, I think. He would rather not lose what little power he has so he sent some representatives on their behalf.”

She omitted the fact that if Claude was going to visit, Flayn would inevitably follow. Nobody was going to tell Seteth of their romance just yet. Claude was shrewd, able to balance his duties as well as keeping Flayn happy.

“Very well. I hope he realizes that if he wants to solidify his position, he will need to leave his territory to negotiate in person with Fhirdiad and the Church.”

Byleth hummed. This was all true, but she wasn’t going to press Claude into visiting Garreg Mach any time soon.

“Well, I’m glad that we didn't have a courier fetch that tea for us. That was a nice little outing.”

She couldn't help but wonder if he would have bought anything more if she wasn’t there. Would he have indulged further, perhaps in jewelry that Teller had mentioned? Would it be for himself? Or a secret lover?

Seteth regarded her with an inscrutable expression before nodding. “Yes. Quite pleasurable.”

Sensing the dismissal before he could state it, she excused herself. The guards had already dispersed, so she couldn't personally thank them. She would have to track down their names to thank them later.

Hopefully, her company wasn’t already waiting. She needed a little time to at least glance over what the meeting was even about.

“Remember to look over that transcript I gave you,” Seteth called after her.

She glanced back with a pained smile.

Right. That.

“Will do,” she replied cheerfully.

That night, she got about halfway through annotating the speech before the more pressing stack of files had her working long into the night, her other obligation forgotten.


	2. Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you so much to those who commented and kudosed the first chapter! I really appreciate it!  
> The grind continues in the work world, but I’m motivated to see this story through to the end :D  
> [Big thanks to Hasine for looking this over!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hansine)  
> Enjoy!

The fact that Byleth actually needed help in getting dressed for her speech and the following ceremony rankled her more than it ought to. It was no different from the holy days that she was expected to dress up and attend, and yet, she bristled in annoyance the moment she awoke at the thought of attendants fawning over her.

She was a capable woman who never had need for assistance in dressing herself, a privilege reserved for the nobility in their dukedoms and palaces. As professor, she was expected to make herself presentable every day. As Archbishop, there was consequence and obligation attached to her appearance.

That led to the situation she found herself in, staring blankly at her office door after a series of excited knocks. This was an important event and she apparently couldn’t be trusted to dress herself.

“Damn it,” she breathed.

She kept her expression in a courteous acquiescence as three women paraded into her room in the mid-morning and ushered her to the rarely-used vanity. They were eager to get started, but she couldn't bring herself to match their energy levels.

She sat on the chair, stiff, as the blonde woman yanked at her hair with a brush and the two others went into her little armoire to find her formal ceremony gown. It was already an annoyance having strangers in her quarters, poking around her things. She didn't have much to look at to begin with, but what she owned she wanted left alone.

“What are your names again?” she asked. They hadn’t offered when they first arrived and she didn't ask. If they were secretly assassins sent to kill her, she would at least like to know who her potential murderers were.

The brush stalled for a moment, as if the user was startled by the question. “Ivy, ma’am. The shorter one is Sarita, the other is Ioanna.”

Byleth suppressed a wince as the brush caught a tangle. The maid hissed in sympathy as she undid the tangle, before continuing.

Ivy tamed Byleth’s hair to her usual loose curls, straightening them out as much as possible. Byleth never put much attention to her hair, only pinning it back during battle and just letting it grow in the downtime. Annette and Mercedes tried to drag her out to the town to buy ornaments for her hair, even slipping hairstyle tutorials in her stacks of paperwork.

She supposed that if she had someone doing her hair every day, she would be a bit more creative with what she did.

Ioanna and Sarita took their cue to return, each carrying a piece of her ceremonial outfit.

Byleth didn’t have many opportunities to actually wear it. She found reasons to wear anything else when she could, to avoid situations such as this as much as possible.

The white dress was simple enough to put on. It fit her figure, brushing the floor. The long sleeves just loose enough that it didn't feel constricting.

It was the cape and cloak that took some maneuvering, long and dark blue with gold threading. It pinned to the front and a medallion, bearing the Crest of Flames, lay flat against her chest.

She bent her knees and lifted her arms, allowing the women to move her around. It was all a lot heavier and warmer than she remembered. Fódlan was consistently cold so the cloak was a thick material. In the small room, it was almost stifling. Rhea had worn something similar every day. How did she not collapse from exhaustion by noon?

“Please sit,” Ivy mumbled, snapping Byleth from her thoughts. She eased Byleth back to her chair without wrinkling the clothes.

Sarita did her makeup. The delicate brushes seemed to pass over every inch of skin on her face, reducing the dark shadows under her eyes and the sunspots that dotted her skin. To her credit, Sarita wasn’t overzealous with the makeup, using just enough that Byleth could feel the weight on her face but not enough that it felt caked on.

She could almost doze at the sensation, until the reality of what she was preparing for set in again. She really should be looking over her notes, but she couldn't move far without ruining the women’s good work.

Ioanna set a box on the vanity and opened it, lifting up the headdress.

Rhea’s headdress had been recovered from Enbarr’s trophy room. It had been on a pedestal, celebrating the Empire’s victory, albeit temporary, over the Church. Rhea had taken it with her when she left the monastery.

This version was a little less ostentatious in Byleth’s opinion. Her suggestion for a simple circlet, not unlike Seteth’s, had been vetoed. This was delicately-shaped gold and silver with small blue tassels and porcelain lilies. It served as a homage to the previous Archbishop, but Byleth also took some inspiration from the goddess-girl who had taken up residence in her head. She didn't want to forget Sothis, especially now that her presence was gone.

It took both Ioanna and Ivy to set the headpiece on her. The longest part of the process seemed to be actually pinning on the headpiece into her hair with all three-woman working. It was large and quick to fall off if not fastened properly.

It gave her more motivation to not slouch and stand up straight. She could imagine how painful it would be if it fell and the pins ripped out of her hair.

The last clip slid into place and Sarita pulled at the headdress, satisfied when it didn't move.

“I think you are ready, milady,” Sarita said with a bow.

Byleth nodded. “Thank you.”

She stood and the women let themselves out of the room to return to where they came from. The Church would pay them for their services, so she suppressed the urge to dig through her coin purse to find some tip for them. Instead, she found herself looking over the women’s work in the mirror.

The whole process felt unnecessary, but if she was to act the part, she had to look the part as well. It wasn’t that she didn't _like_ the archbishop’s garb; it just didn't feel right on her. The medallion she wore on her chest had served her well over the years and that had been the extent of any extravagant jewelry.

Now, she was decked out in the elegant cape and intricate headdress. Add the Sword of the Creator, and she would be the picture of a vengeful goddess. The idea brought her little joy. Clinging to her newly-found humanity was enough of a task on its own; she didn't need divinity to make things messy.

She smoothed her hands over the skirt and pulled at her cape.

The clock on the vanity told her it was almost time and a pit of nervousness formed in her stomach. She was all dressed for the ceremony, practically trapped in her own clothes, so there was no going back.

Byleth struggled to walk in her shoes without stepping on the dress and tripping herself. This was why she wore simpler attire when she led prayers and ceremonies in the cathedral. It left less chances for her to embarrass herself.

She managed to get to her desk and retrieve her script. Seteth’s neat handwriting next to Byleth’s spindly additions made it almost illegible, but she had stared at the page for so long that she knew exactly what was written. Behind it was Seteth’s notes on the ritual following the speech. She had less time to look it over, but she hoped for leniency from both Seteth and the attending monks if she stumbled over the ritual.

Folding the papers and tucking it into her pocket, she stepped out of her quarters. The halls were empty on her walk towards the tower. It was both a blessing and a curse: nobody to see her obvious nervousness and nobody to distract her.

Rucking her dress skirt in her hands, she climbed up the stairs towards the huge balcony that overlooked the large courtyard. It was where she first saw Rhea when she arrived with Jeralt. Now, she would be the one standing over those below. How things had changed.

She made it to the top without being completely winded, but her knees creaked more than she liked during her ascent. Seteth was already waiting for her. He looked at her with a wide-eyed gaze and quickly looked away. In the distance, she could see his mouth moving just slightly around words clearly not meant for her ears.

“Good morning, Seteth,” she greeted as she approached.

He turned fully with a respectful bow. A gold-lined cape was pinned to his shoulders, but he wore the same dark blue ensemble that he normally did. It still made him look more regal and Byleth swallowed around a lump of nervousness that had nothing to do with her impending speech.

“Good morning, Archbishop,” he greeted.

“I look the part of it, don’t I?” she mumbled, glancing down at herself. She supposed the shimmering fabric gave her an ethereal look. The weight of the ornaments didn't allow her to dwell on that for too long.

“It suits you perfectly.”

She smoothed her hands over the skirt, chasing away nonexistent wrinkles. At least, she didn't look like a child in her parent’s clothes, all awkward and out-of-place. Maybe Seteth thought she looked pretty. She really hoped he did.

There were already the sounds of a large crowd filtering from the open windows. She knew that people started to gather in the early morning, but it seemed like there were a lot of people there to hear her speak.

“Did you warm up the crowd for me?”

Seteth smiled and the sight of it always floored her. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes were so appealing, but she really shouldn’t be thinking of that right now.

“No,” he said with a shake of the head. “I thought I would be a pale imitation of the woman following me.”

“Flattery to keep me from panicking over this address?”

“Is it working?”

It was, but she wasn’t going to say so.

“Keep that up and I—I,” Byleth paused, before the words stopped in her throat.

Darkness swamped her vision, bringing with it a horrible sense of disorientation warring with a foreign feeling of being completely surrounded by warmth. She had no control over her limbs, no will or ability to move. It was silent, lonely and Sothis wasn’t there to save her. She didn't understand what feat of cursed magic did this, but she couldn't fight it.

For a horrible moment, she was stuck floating, without an anchor or a way out, and faintly, just loud enough to be heard, was a heartbeat.

“—bishop? Byleth?”

The light returned and the heart went silent as Seteth had a hand at her arm, the other wrapped around her waist to keep her upright. He was so solid and warm and his eyes were…full of concern?

She blinked, gaping at him for a moment, unsure of what just happened and how she got there. “I—Seteth?”

For a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. He stared at her face and the muscles in his jaw jumped from clenching his teeth.

“Seteth?”

He shook a little, still not letting go, but the fog seemed to disappear. The heartbeat was silent.

“You almost collapsed. Are you alright?” he demanded.

Byleth swallowed, jerking in shock when Seteth didn’t wait to hear her answer and instead pressed his hand against her forehead and over her cheek.

“You don’t have a fever.”

Byleth _did_ feel strangely warm, but she supposed it was out of embarrassment. “Ah, thank you. I don’t know what happened.”

It was unlike anything she had experienced before, even the crippling fatigue that came when she combined with Sothis. A vision, not quite a memory. Something wanted her to see it, but she didn’t know who or why.

“Things like this just happen to me, I guess,” she muttered, finding herself unwilling to describe what she had seen to Seteth. “Bad luck.”

Seteth didn’t look convinced, pressing his hand to her forehead again. The feeling of warm metal on her skin had her glancing up.

“You’re wearing the ring?” she asked.

Seteth pulled his hand away, holding it out in front of her face, and a blush dusted his cheeks.

“I figured it would be good to show support. Also, it is a lovely gift.”

Byleth blushed and for a moment she had forgotten why Seteth had put his arms around her. She glanced out to the open doors and the balcony. The din of thousands filtered up into the room.

Her speech, right. Seteth’s gaze followed hers. They both seemed to remember their purpose.

“If you are unwell, we can always send a written statement, or I can give the speech in your stead. I can also take charge of the ritual in the Goddess Tower if you wish.”

Byleth tried her hardest to pay attention to what he was saying, but she was thoroughly distracted by both their close proximity and the sudden fear and the feeling of heaviness that still clung to her bones.

“I’m going to do it.” She stepped away, immediately missing his embrace. “Thank you for catching me.”

Seteth blushed at that. “Of course, Archbishop. I will always be there to catch you.”

“I don’t know, Seteth. Always is a long time.”

It was as if a cloud passed in front of the sun. Something heavy and sad seemed to descend over Seteth. “I suppose it is.”

Something heavy and sour landed in her stomach. She didn’t know what to say that would chase that expression from his face.

“Okay, I think I’m ready. Do I look like I’m ready?”

To her relief, Seteth looked her over, back to the aloof expression she had come to expect from the man. “You look just fine, Archbishop.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Will you be close by?”

“Of course. I will be right behind you.”

She could take comfort in that. She sucked in a breath and turned to the open doors. “Here goes nothing.”

She walked forward, mindful of her long dress. Seteth followed a pace behind her, only to stop just beyond the open doors.

The sun warmed her face as she stepped to the edge of the balcony.

The din of the crowd became a hush as they looked up at her. It still felt foreign to her. Even leading the occasional service in the cathedral, though less nerve-wracking than something like this, was still something to get used to.

She could lead a class of students, then assist with leading the armies of Fódlan. Here, her listeners hung on her every word.

Byleth cleared her throat, pulling out her notes from her pocket. Seteth had practiced with her, over and over. Just knowing that he was at her shoulder brought a sense of relief and stress. She didn’t want to disappoint him or embarrass him.

What the people below thought of her, she cared less about. What those close to her thought, that was more important.

Byleth squared her shoulders and hoped nobody could see how her hands shook where she held her speech.

“Fellow believers in the Church of Seiros, I thank you for joining me today on this joyous occasion.”

* * *

“You did well.”

Seteth’s words rang hollowly in her head as she stepped back inside after her speech concluded. Byleth wasn’t too sure about ‘doing well’. She couldn't remember if her voice cracked or if she stumbled over her words. She could have butchered the entire thing and not known it.

She just felt strangely exhausted and exhilarated, probably red-faced and glassy-eyed. She could still hear the crowd cheering her name.

“Thank you, Seteth,”

From there, the monastery would be open to explore for the public who gathered. The staff had worked overtime to make the still-damaged cathedral look its best for the celebration. It still wasn’t quite normal, from before the war. Byleth lacked the same experience as Rhea. She looked so young and out of place in Rhea’s place.

It took a moment to notice the dozen monks who had gathered in the room, clearly ready to escort them to the Goddess Tower. All twelve looked to her, waiting for her word. Some carried large, lit candles, others golden boats with wisps of incense spilling out of the openings.

Byleth took a moment and breathed around the residual panic that still clung to her. Her job was not yet done.

“Shall the ceremony begin?” she asked, looking to Seteth.

He nodded. Gone was the easy familiarity, replaced with solemnity. “At your word, Archbishop Byleth.”

She suppressed a shiver as she started towards the door. Seteth fell in line behind her and the procession followed them. Her footsteps were steady, though she was conscious of every step, fearing that she would step on her dress and trip.

They processed down the stairs to the ground floor in silence. Byleth felt watched, by the people walking behind her and by those who stopped to watch as they made their trek.

This was, really, her first true test as Archbishop. The holy days that had come before it had their own importance, but none could compare.

Seteth walked by her side, now that their path had opened to a wide hallway. He may have sensed her unease from walking in the front of the little parade. Or maybe he was thinking back to her fainting spell a mere hour earlier and wanted to keep an eye on her. Regardless, she did feel some comfort having him by her side.

A nun, dressed in a white and gold habit, stood at the entrance as they processed down the hallway. Distantly, Byleth could hear the milling of people outside. As soon as Byleth and Seteth passed, the nun fell in behind them and started to sing, clear and strong like a ringing bell.

It was a song of flowering hillsides and light and a civilization that could only be described as divine. It painted a picture of a flourishing and blessed city.

Now, chills fully coursed down Byleth’s spine as all became silent except for singing and footsteps. In the corner of her eye, she saw people, the believers who had come to visit the monastery, pausing, bowing their heads as the procession passed.

Even now, with the war almost a year behind them, she thought of hidden enemies and knives hidden in coats and shirtsleeves. The knights standing guard on the path was some comfort, but her fingers itched for her own blade.

She tried to focus on the route and hoped that Seteth would never find the need to guide her. They were to pass through much of the monastery, offering the structures blessings of incense and candlelight and song. Then, they would reach the Goddess Tower, and the ritual would truly begin.

Byleth was amazed that she had missed such a thing when she was a professor there, filling her with a sour regret. She only remembered the battle in the Holy Mausoleum. Blood had covered her sword and speckled her uniform. The magic and solemnity that should have come with the ceremony had been brutally destroyed.

It had taken weeks for the carnage to be properly cleaned away and the tombs properly consecrated. Byleth had nothing to do with that, as she was the apparent maker of messes, not the cleaner, but she remembered monks and priests filing in and out of the open doors whenever she would visit the cathedral.

The ugly thoughts of death and days long past disappeared when she glanced over at Seteth.

His eyes were glazed-over, as if he was keeping himself from weeping. If he was moved by the song or if it made him long for times that were now far away, she didn't know. She wanted to reach out to squeeze his arm in comfort, but the knowledge of being seen, knowing that the affection would not be returned, stayed her hand.

This was the first Rite of Rebirth since the war. Had he haunted the monastery all that time when Rhea and Byleth were gone, hearing the phantom voices of song and worship ringing around the empty halls?

They followed the path up and through most of the monastery, filing through the cathedral and out to the Goddess Tower.

She remembered hiding there in the cover of darkness during the ball. She had little chance to appreciate the room, if it had any ceremonial decorations. No one had followed her, and she found no one at the top balcony.

She also remembered the same room, dusty and neglected, with Dimitri, feral and angry and tired, huddled in a corner. How things had changed.

There had been a lot of restoration in preparation for this day. The dust and cobwebs had been chased away. The windows that had been shattered by Imperial arrows during their sack of the monastery had been repaired. The altar was covered in embroidered cloth that shimmered under the candlelight.

The loneliness that was indelible on Byleth’s mind had been chased away by the attending priests and nuns. One of the priests tended to a gilded harp

She didn't have long to admire it. One of the nuns handed her the largest incense boat with a deep bow, which she accepted. She knew her part to play. She had enough experience with using an incense boat from other ceremonies to not accidentally hit herself with it. Seteth almost wouldn’t let her live it down when the metal swung down and struck her in the hip. It didn't cause damage, but it was inelegant and caused the attending believers to titter at the inexperienced Archbishop.

With gentle motions, she swung it and allowed it to fill the air with heady-smelling smoke. It washed over the altar and clung to the air

“I consecrate the Goddess Tower on this day,” she intoned.

She had already told Seteth that she wouldn’t be able to memorize the whole opening prayer, which she was supposed to recite as she made twelve slow circles around the altar.

“That the light abides and the darkness flees to the furthest corners, held in check by righteous power.”

She stopped speaking then and the harpist in the corner started to play.

Ten, eleven, twelve rotations and she set the boat onto the altar, allowing the smoke to drift out. She turned to Seteth, who watched her with an inscrutable expression. He had to have been expecting this, but she couldn't help but feel like she was disappointing him in not being able to continue the verses.

Instead, she picked up the tome full of ritual prayers, already bookmarked to where she was meant to begin. The book felt old, but the pages were clean and the ink was clear.

Taking her place next to Seteth and facing the altar, she began, “I ask the Goddess, the progenitor god, to come down on this land.”

It still soured her stomach, even though she knew the verse was coming. She knew the Goddess, and she knew that Sothis would not return. Byleth was Sothis and Sothis was Byleth. The return already happened, but it wasn’t the way the scriptures had hoped for.

The rest of the believers thought otherwise. She wondered how much Rhea knew and if Seteth and Flayn knew anything at all.

She continued the prayer, which was half a plea for the Goddess’s return and half a recount of Church mythos that had prevailed throughout the centuries. Most of the language was modern, but she could tell there were some parts that had been translated from ancient tongues to the modern.

When her prayer faded to nothing, the entire room seemed to move. The priests and nuns in attendance circulated around the room in what felt like a dance. Trails of incense smoke and candlelight floated as if by their own volition as their attendants performed the ritual.

Byleth glanced down, counting the seconds down in her head before she could move on to the next prayer.

One of the priests walked in front of her and the candle’s flame was suddenly blinding. It was better and less panic-inducing than the swallowing darkness that she had found earlier in the day.

Byleth blinked back the spots that danced in her eyes as a small figure came into focus.

The girl had dark green hair, tied into a bun against her head.

“Mama?” she called out.

Byleth blinked at the sudden apparition. Nobody else gave any indication that they could see the girl or hear what she had said.

She glanced back down at the verses, but her voice wavered as she began to recite.

A ghost? A vision? Was she hallucinating, the sign of another fainting spell? She really hoped not. The first time had been when she and Seteth were alone, but now they were surrounded by people. She couldn't afford to show that kind of weakness.

“Mama, come on! Look at me!”

Arms crossed over her chest, a pout on her mouth. Byleth’s mouth flapped as there was a lull once again in the verses and harpsong filled the smoky air. It felt too familiar, like the goddess-girl who had taken up residence in her head for years. She was gone; she had been gone for years.

“Sothis?” Byleth breathed.

If Seteth heard her, he didn't make an indication. His eyes were trained to the altar as the monks made their rotations with candles and incense.

The girl giggled, a high-pitched, childish thing. “Silly, Mama. How could you forget my name?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t…”

Byleth swayed in place, not sure if she wanted to sprint forward to see if the girl was a hallucination or to run for the hills. The girl didn't seem particularly insulted that Byleth didn't know her name; it was as if this were a game that she was used to.

She decided on a halfway solution.

“Come here,” Byleth whispered. She wanted to reach out to touch, to see if this girl was real. A toothy grin and the girl skipped forward. The incense floated around her, draining the vivid colors to grey and white with every step.

It was a child of ashes and smoke.

Seteth nudged her gently, but she jerked as if he had poked her between the eyes.

“Wha—?” she mumbled.

He gestured to the book in her hands, which looked close to falling in her slack grip.

“The next verse, Archbishop.”

She glanced back at where the girl had once stood and the space was empty. Even the incense was undisturbed. It was as if she didn't exist.

Byleth looked back to Seteth and down to the book in her hands. The words jumbled and swam over the page, making nonsense, before finding order again.

“Of course,” she breathed.

The rest of the ceremony continued and Byleth allowed herself to be carried with it. She gave her prayers and consecrations, but now it seemed it was Seteth and the attending priests and nuns who took over.

She couldn't allow herself to relax. She was enraptured by the ceremony and the distinct sense of privilege that she got to witness it.

There was an absence felt throughout the ceremony and Byleth knew that it was Flayn. She recalled how Flayn was to join Rhea and Seteth the last time the ritual was made. Maybe Flayn was always meant to play a certain role in the ceremony and now the priests had to fulfill her role in her place. There was a seat next to Seteth that was conspicuously empty. Nobody dared to fill it.

Seteth stepped forward towards the altar and Byleth couldn't help but turn to watch. He was completely focused on the task before him. He seemed to be every bit the archbishop that she wasn’t: practiced and sure of himself. He knew exactly what he was going and what he was doing, as if he had done the same thing a thousand times.

_Maybe he had._

She shook the thought from her mind. He had his secrets, but surely none so big as the one Rhea kept for so long.

Of course not.

He gave his prayer, strong and clear, before one of the nuns approached, carrying a large bowl that seemed to vibrate with magic.

Byleth held her breath as Seteth carried it to the base of the altar.

“She will find rest here, at her return, and we shall welcome her with open arms. These walls, blessed through the ages, will be her throne.”

He lifted the bowl to shoulder-height as he turned to face outward. His eyes immediately found Byleth’s. The light from the bowl cast shadows across his face. She looked away, suddenly finding the book in her hands very interesting. She didn't know what was going to happen next, but she had faith that Seteth knew what he was doing.

Her eyes snapped back to Seteth as he intoned, “Our prayers will echo throughout the ages and our signal will burn so bright that it will reach the heavens. Let it be done.”

The bowl fell from his hands and cracked like an egg at his feet, sending chunks of glass skittering around the stone floor. Fire, white and harmless, rushed from where the bowl smashed to pieces and out in all directions. Byleth couldn't help but shift a little in place as the flames rushed past her feet and around her. It spilled out the open doors and out into the evening air.

It was to represent a beacon, a signal to the Goddess to find her believers. That was what Seteth had told her in the lead-up to the ceremony and he seemed utterly unaffected by the spectacle around him. The light from the magical fire sent shadows across his face and for a moment, Byleth was sure she could see his eyes glow.

He stepped forward and glass crunched under his feet. He stood next to her as she sucked in a breath.

Byleth spoke with a loud voice, “The ceremony is ended, but our prayers shall echo across the world for all time and reach the Goddess’s ears.”

All around her bowed low and intoned in one voice, “Let it be done.”

Finally, it was over. The candles remained and would be lit until midnight, with one of the priests attending the light until the designated time.

The others collected the incense boats and prayer books and filed out of the Tower.

Byleth stood, feeling strange as the space slowly changed around her. The incense still clung to her nose. Even now, the memory of the girl was disappearing from her mind. It had been a long day and it wasn’t even dinner yet.

“I need a drink,” she mumbled.

Seteth stood by her side, looking at her inquisitively. “The ceremony was that bad?”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes until lights flashed. He didn't sound offended, but there was a tinge of disappointment there.

“Maybe,” she responded flatly. “It was a lot.”

The vision in the smoke tickled the back of her mind, but even then, she couldn't really remember what the girl looked or sounded like.

Seteth’s silence was audible before he spoke up.

“Remember the tea we bought together?” he mused.

She thought about that outing more than she ought to. Just walking by his side, in relative peace, could fuel her in ways she couldn't describe. She didn't know why. Seteth didn't need to know that.

“Yes.”

“Let’s have some.”

She sighed and didn't respond. She jerked a little when his hand gripped the crook of her elbow to pull her hand from her face. Byleth peeked at him sheepishly.

“That isn’t the kind of drink I was hoping for,” she mumbled.

She followed, of course. While he was her advisor, sometimes she wondered who was actually in charge.

Whenever she visited his office, it always seemed like he was poring over one report or another. How much did he divert to his desk, to spare her the work? If she was an actual ruler, she would have been suspicious of the amount of control he had. She found none of those poisonous feelings in her heart.

If he wanted to be Archbishop, she would gladly step aside for him. She could be his sword and shield while he led the people to peace. His ability to lead and his devotion had him perfectly suited for the job. Fate didn't want it that way.

Byleth paused when they stepped out into the afternoon air, glancing out to see the stretch of land that surrounded the monastery.

“Actually, Seteth,” she started, watching how the clouds cast shadows over the hills. “I’m not really feeling up to tea right now. I think I will return to my quarters. Headache.”

When Seteth didn't respond for a moment, she finally glanced over at him. He stared at her with an inscrutable expression. It was a lame excuse and they both knew it.

“Of course. Shall I have your dinner sent to your room?”

“Yes, thank you.”

When she was alone in her room, she realized that maybe it would have been a good idea to request one of the maids to return to help her get out of her ceremonial outfit.

It took her almost an hour to pluck all of the pins out of her hair and remove the headpiece. The cloak and dress took less time, but she was careful to hang them up in their proper place in her closet.

Standing in her underclothes, Byleth felt exhaustion take a stronger hold. Part of her regretted leaving Seteth, but it would have been unbecoming if she fell asleep at the tea table.

The incense had been a heady thing. He looked as much as a god as Sothis did and she felt no guilt in thinking that. If Sothis was inside of her, nobody could accuse her of blasphemy.

She could imagine the way Seteth would blush and sputter if she told him such a thing. She could see a blush of her own appear on her cheeks when she glanced in the mirror. Instead of letting those thoughts take hold, she tucked herself into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	3. Distant Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos the last chapter and such! I really appreciate it!  
> Please keep in mine the tag changes :3c  
> Enjoy!

Dawn light filtered through the window, easing her out of sleep. That ease lasted seconds before the reality of the day crashed over her. She had a lot to do, even more since she did no work the previous day. Things piled on themselves very quickly.

Her mind wandered away from that almost immediately. It had been a while since she had lifted a sword in training or in combat. The time for taking her students and battalions to battle were long gone.

She sighed, rolling to her side before rolling to her back again. Her body felt tense, wanting to hit something. The itch to fight had returned, echoing her thoughts.

She was Archbishop, but once a mercenary, always a mercenary. It chased away any morning hunger. She didn't want to eat; she wanted to fight.

She fumbled around the room, her body not quite catching up with her thoughts.

She donned her old professor uniform and immediately felt at ease in a way that didn't come when she wore her archbishop’s garb. It should have brought guilt, but it didn't. This was a facet of her. No amount of frill would cover that up.

While everyone was still recovering from the festivities of the night before, the walk to the training grounds was blessedly quiet. Too quiet, which brought an eerie chill down her spine. It reminded her too much of wartime, when the monastery had been all but abandoned.

The cathedral was still a work-in-progress, despite the preparations for the festival. Things were returning to normal, but the scars of war would linger for decades to come. She didn't linger too much on memories.

As soon as she arrived, she took up one of the training swords and swung at the dummy.

It had been weeks since she had visited the training grounds. Preparations for the Rite of Rebirth took more time than she had anticipated. She missed the sound of people training and the friendly tournaments that brought crowds surrounding the square. That normalcy had shattered, reformed under the Faerghus occupation of the monastery, and disappeared again at war’s end.

The Officers Academy hadn’t opened yet, after the war. They would be lucky to get it reopened within the next five years. All over the newly-united nation, dukedoms were in tatters and struggling to maintain order. Ruling houses and powerful merchant families couldn't spare their adolescent children in this time of upheaval.

She was betting on a decade before reopening, but she didn't say that aloud. As the Archbishop, she needed to be optimistic. She had to be strong in the face of the people.

The war was over, but it was hard to put down the sword. She was too used to enacting change with her actions, not her words. They were facing problems that didn't need battalions, instead something so intricate that she was only beginning to understand.

Rhea had the benefit of a world between wars. There had been skirmishes here and there, but there was relative peace. Byleth had to put out a hundred fires to even get close to the same peace. She couldn't take up the sword again.

Even now, as it drained the excess energy, the act of slowly decapitating the training dummy had her stomach feel queasy.

She paused mid-swing, the tip of the training sword scraping against the ground.

It really didn't bring her much joy, doing this. She killed real people in the course of the war, and before that, during her work as a mercenary. People who were trying to kill her and the people she cared about, but they were people all the same.

How many widows and orphans did she leave in her wake? How many survived her blade, only to be permanently crippled?

For a moment, black stars fluttered in her vision.

_Death-bringer. Fell-Star. Most-righteous vessel._

_Do you recall the Red Canyon?_

Byleth shut her eyes and breathed as it felt like her eyes were burning. She swayed in place, allowing the churning her stomach and the lightheadedness run their course. She wouldn’t fall. She refused to. It would only be a statement of weakness if the Archbishop fell in the middle of training. The country couldn't afford such a thing. It took several long moments before the sensation abated.

Sothis was gone and no apparitions appeared before her eyes. It was a voice, from deep in the recesses of her mind, and nothing more.

Clearly, she wasn’t getting enough sleep. And she also didn't remember eating at all that day, so that was more than likely the reason for the feeling of weakness.

Byleth put the training sword back in its place. Perhaps, she would return in a couple days. Or, she would never set foot there again. She wasn’t going to make a decision just yet. The need to be ready for battle would tug at her mind, bringing her again to the packed dirt and training dummies.

After stealing a handful of bread rolls from the dining hall, she drew a bath in her quarters.

When she was a professor, she wasn’t offered the same amenities that Hanneman and Manuela were given. She was to bathe in the same communal baths as the students. That had been no problem at the time, though she knew that the scars from her mercenary work was off-putting to whoever accidentally saw her.

The discoloration on her left knee was the most obvious, but the pock-marks from arrows and the thin lines from blades that scattered across her back and torso were also evidence of her battle experience.

Byleth shed her sweaty outfit and stood in the chill of her bathroom as the tub slowly filled with hot water. She couldn’t help the childish excitement at the prospect of a bath. She remembered how some of the students that came from nobility would talk about having attendants in the bath.

That was another thing that she just didn’t understand about that lifestyle. With access to her own bathroom, it was her time to be alone. The thought of having to share that with someone else was repulsive to her.

She poured a little soap into the water and watched it bubble up until there was just enough for her to finally climb in.

The warm water was a blessing to her overworked muscles. Byleth gave a shuddering sigh as she sunk further into the water until her chin just brushed the surface. The spiced scent of the soap permeated the air.

She sat back up and the water sloshed around her. While napping in her tub was tempting, she did have a schedule to keep. There was still time for her to make a dent in her pile of papers and still make her appointment with Seteth in time.

The thought of the man in question made her blush. She remembered his arms around her as he caught her. His touch had lingered enough that she could feel his physique: the balance between the difficulties of war and the leisure of peace.

Did he train as she did? Perhaps he had his own private area, away from everyone else. The Knights did have their little training area, though it wasn’t often used anymore. Maybe he made use of it, now that the Knights were flung across Fódlan in an attempt to stitch the kingdom together.

The thought of him, shed of his stuffy robes and wielding a lance, sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. The memory of him surrounded by wisps of smoke and haloed in candlelight had her cheeks aflame.

Her fingers played over one of her nipples and she shivered again.

She didn't touch herself often. Before Garreg Mach, there was no time, no need for such things. Even while teaching, there was little simmer of desire as she slowly learned how to smile, rage, and cry.

Now, she found herself with the warm feeling in her gut, that uncomfortable tickle between her legs that would normally have her rubbing her thighs together and hoping that it would stop, because it never happened at opportune times.

She was alone, and she had time.

It still didn't stop her from looking guiltily at the shut door before her hand slipped under the water. This was going to be embarrassingly quick. She already knew that as soon as her hand skimmed over her taut abdomen and between her legs.

She felt warm and hazy, but the desire sat heavy in the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes wandered as she touched herself, unable to focus. The gilded moulding along the ceiling caught her attention first, with the swooping golden details. When her thoughts inevitably drifted to the detailing on a certain advisor’s robes, Byleth’s breath hitched in her chest. She tried to keep the thoughts away. She wanted to focus on just the pleasure, but his face kept drifting into her mind.

Her feet skidded against the tub as she squirmed.

It was difficult to fully imagine, but she thought of kisses pressed to her throat and a pair of hands stroking over her skin. She told herself it was nobody in particular.

Byleth gave a single moan into the still air as she shuddered. His name jumped to the front of her mouth, but she swallowed it back.

“Goddess,” she whispered as she quickened her pace.

The water sloshed obscenely as the pleasure peaked. She stiffened with a gasp and shook with the sudden heat of it.

Byleth sighed as the pleasure of her release faded, realizing that her bathwater was getting cooler by the second. The thought of using magic to reheat it was quickly dismissed. She didn't want to accidentally boil herself, which was more than likely with her mediocre magic skills.

Instead, she finished her bath, feeling oddly ashamed that she had wasted time with her hot water on pleasuring herself instead of the task of actually cleaning. The pleasing way her legs still shook from her orgasm almost made her forget her shame. Almost.

She took her time drying herself off. Once she had dressed, she knew she would have to force herself to start doing actual work.

Pulling a soft sweater over her head, she wandered through her quarters, straightening things out as she went.

She really, really didn’t want to do her work. At least, as professor, she had personal investment in grading her students’ papers and assessments. Everything else was so distant and she couldn't bring herself to care too much about any of it. Putting her feelings aside, Byleth sat at her desk. She couldn't help but sigh at the divided piles of papers.

She pulled out a fresh inkwell and started to put a dent in the ‘dignitary correspondence and mandatory ass-kissing’ pile, as Dimitri had lovingly called it. Most were simply things she could skim through and sign, but some required her attention, especially the sparse letters from dukes communicating the state of their lands.

Minutes blended into hours without her stopping, so focused that she missed the knock at her door and the kitchen staff who was meant to deliver her dinner.

The sputter of a dying candle had her snapping back to reality. Dusk had fallen and she was almost late for her meeting. If she took too much time, Seteth would come down to get her, with a moue of disappointment marring his face.

She blew out the candles and corked the inkwell before making the walk to Seteth’s office.

The Archbishop’s quarters were quite isolated from the rest of the monastery, a squat one-story building. It was separated from the main building by a small courtyard. It was meant to be something of a residence, but it was more a brick box than anything else.

She had no anxiety when she approached his office. It was no different to the dozens of meetings they had before, but if she smoothed out her coat before knocking on the door, well, that would be her secret.

“Good evening, Archbishop,” Seteth greeted as he opened the door for her.

She nodded, ignoring the bristling feeling in her chest at the title.

“Seteth,” she replied with a nod. Her voice was steady. If there was anything that she was good at, it was a poker face. He would know nothing of her earlier activities, activities that she really ought to keep out of her mind.

He stepped aside to let her in and she made a beeline to her usual spot across from him at his desk.

She pulled in close; Seteth had already set up a blank sheet of paper and some writing utensils.

There was something more: a plate full of pieces of cheese and meat. There were even grapes and pieces of bread along with it.

“What is this?” she wondered aloud.

Seteth sat down across form her, answering, “Charcuterie plate.”

She repeated the words as she plucked off a thin slice of meat. “Is this dinner?” she wondered aloud before popping it in her mouth. “Never heard of it.”

“I had heard that nobody was able to get food to you this evening. I wanted to make sure you ate at least a little something.”

Byleth nodded in thanks, though she couldn't help but wonder why he would know that. Did he just ask after her every day, or did he have someone reporting to him?

“It’s so fancy,” she murmured as she collected grapes in one hand and bread with cheese in the other.

Seteth was quiet as she tucked in. She almost didn't notice until the silence closed over her ears and she suddenly felt very exposed and quite embarrassed.

“First order of business?” she asked, reddening.

Seteth started, as if he had been lost in thought as she had been lost in the offered snacks.

“Ah, yes,” he said, shuffling the papers on his desk. “We have received more requests for funds to rebuild parishes in former Imperial territories.”

Ah, the glories of administration. Since they were operating with a skeleton staff in Garreg Mach, what should have been delegated to someone else fell on their desks.

Seteth handed her the short stack of papers as soon as her hands were free.

“Have the funds they have already received not been sufficient?” Byleth asked. Her eyes skimmed over the forms, seeing mind-boggling amounts of gold requested.

Seteth rolled his eyes. “Apparently, the Empire had stripped most of the buildings of any valuables, even the gold leaf from the walls. They want to restore their buildings to their former glory.”

She slapped the paper back onto his desk.

“They can wait,” she said. “We have towns still in ruins that we need to support. If they have four walls and a roof and enough staff to maintain, they will survive in the meantime.”

The meeting continued along the same vein: a topic was brought up and fielded. There was a lot that they couldn't handle at the moment. They had to say ‘no’ to a lot of people, which was something people were apparently not used to.

She had only known the Church for a year before the war. Now, she had to lead it into a new future, barely knowing what the past was.

“And the state of the monastery?” Seteth asked.

They were winding down, getting to the less important topics, like monastery maintenance and the quality of food in the dining hall.

Byleth wrinkled her face, realizing that the question wouldn’t have the simple answer that it usually did. The barrenness of the training area and knowledge of the barren classrooms bothered her more than she liked.

There was movement in the monastery halls, people doing things, but there was very little conversation, laughter, _life_.

“The classrooms are getting dusty,” she muttered.

There had been too many times that she had passed the boarded-up rooms and glanced through the dusty windows to where she used to teach.

Seteth watched her in confusion. “Are the daily maintenance people doing an insufficient job?” he asked.

Byleth shook her head. “No, I mean, they are empty and have been for a while. It is quite lonely to look at.”

“You know that the Officers’ Academy isn’t going to be open for several years until recovery is further along,” Seteth said with a sigh.

Byleth bristled a little. They had gone through that many times. He didn't need to remind her of the sad fact.

“We should at least hold classes before the Officers’ Academy returns,” she suggested.

“Classes? For what? Who would we teach?”

Byleth drummed her fingers against the desk. Seteth’s shock at the idea surprised her. It seemed so obvious to her.

“Literacy, for the kids in town, maybe?”

Seteth jotted down a note before steepling his fingers. “That is an idea. However, where would we get the funds for such a thing?”

Byleth shrugged. “We could allot what would have gone to the Officer’s Academy to this.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” At her look of confusion, Seteth elaborated, “We charged dues to the families as well as collected donations. Neither of those things are viable when we are still rebuilding.”

“You don't think it’s possible?” she wondered.

“I don’t think it’s a viable option at this time.”

She tilted her head with a wry smile to hide her disappointment. While the Church’s coffers were basically sieves at that point in recovery, Byleth wasn’t convinced. It didn’t seem like a big ask of her. They were able to rebuild the hole in the cathedral wall and cart off a mountain of rubble. They could carry out classes for children, even if it was for only a couple of times a week.

“You would refuse me this, of all things?” she sighed.

It was a risk but the words had the intended effect. Seteth shifted in his chair. “It isn’t that I am refusing you. I just have concerns about optics, if we start asking for donations again.”

“We could always rotate some of the staff who work in the monastery to teach. After all, Garreg Mach is no stranger to giving teaching roles to people with no experience.” She arched a brow with a teasing grin and Seteth returned it with a smile of his own. Byleth blushed, unchecked. The heated sensation she felt in her bathtub returned, only this was softer and affectionate and it scared her.

What was wrong with her? Now, she could only hope that the lack of light would hide her stumble.

Seteth nodded slowly, back to business again. “They are already on our payrolls, so there would be no change in the budget.”

Byleth flailed, trying to regain her train of thought. She shoved some more grapes into her mouth to buy time.

“We could always reward them with preferential access to the dining hall and such for those who are teaching that day or week, as an incentive,” she said. “Besides, the town was the first casualty in this war. We saw what destruction was caused there. It only seems fair.”

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. They didn't talk much of the events at the start of the war. The Battle of Garreg Mach had been a stunning loss to the Church. Seteth never told her what he had seen on the battlefield, if he saw Rhea get captured, if he saw Byleth fall. She only knew that he took Flayn, the Relics, and whatever staff remained and allowed the monastery to fall.

The way the candlelight caught his sorrowful expression told her that he saw more than he let on.

“I shall make the arrangements,” he murmured. He scrawled something on his notes.

Byleth straightened in her chair with pride. She had gotten what she wanted. She wondered how many times Rhea was able to get her way when she was Archbishop.

Seteth organized his papers, the meeting clearly at its end, as Byleth polished off the rest of the charcuterie plate.

“Allow me to escort you to your room.”

Byleth blinked at him as he stood. “I’m not sure that is necessary,” she murmured, setting her writing supplies in a neat bundle on his desk.

“I must insist. After the fall you almost took earlier yesterday, I want to make sure nothing else befalls you.”

She wanted to bite back that she was able to make it back to her rooms the night before and to his office as well without any problems. Her pride wanted to fight against it, but something else wanted to acquiesce. She nodded as she stood. “Fine, lead the way.”

Seteth held the door open for her as she moved past him.

“Aren’t you going to offer me your arm?” she asked as he joined her in the hallway.

The request was out of her mouth before she could check it. Seteth gaped at her in shock for a moment before he offered her his bent elbow. Under the dim torchlight, she saw her father’s ring on his hand glinting as he moved his arm.

For a moment, they stood in the hallway.

“I am at your service, Archbishop,” he stated. The words were formal, but his tone was soft and intimate.

Byleth tried her best not to blush as she rested her hand at the crook of his elbow. They walked side-by-side through the empty hallways. She could feel the tension under his coat. Was he nervous? Repulsed? He stared forward steadfastly, so she couldn't read his expression.

The cold night air bit at their faces as soon as they stepped into the courtyard. The warmth radiating off of Seteth was almost enough to offset it.

“It’s a clear night tonight,” Byleth said, stopping in her tracks. Seteth paused almost instantly, not allowing her hand to be dislodged from its place on his arm.

“It is.”

They both turned and watched the night sky. The stars sparkled, hundreds in an inky-black sky, and for a moment she could forget about who they were and what responsibilities awaited them.

“It’s selfless,” Seteth announced, suddenly.

“What?” Byleth sputtered, blinking up at him.

“Your idea for using the classrooms. It is a selfless idea.”

She felt her shoulders creep up towards her ears. “I’m not so sure about that. Others will be doing the work for me.”

“But you thought of others, on instinct. That is something I admire about you,” Seteth insisted. His eyes didn't move from the stars, letting Byleth stare at him unabashedly.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied.

“You have gone into battle for your students time and time again when they asked, even to your own peril. You helped me when I asked, with Flayn and with the incident at Rhodos Coast.”

She nodded, though the mention of Rhodos Coast brought an unnamable pang to her chest. The stories of years past shouldn’t have had the effect on her, though the stories were piecemeal. Seteth’s wife died in a war, but he never said what war. Flayn had been injured, but he never said the extent or nature of her injuries. She didn't even know how _old_ they were. Then again, she only knew how old she was in the first months she was in Garreg Mach. It wasn’t until seeing her mother’s grave and her father’s journal that she was able to figure it out.

She had little knowledge of her own existence. What gave her the right to knowledge of anyone else’s?

“You would have done the same for me,” Byleth murmured, shrugging.

Despite the rocky start, when he would have kicked her to the wayside at a moment’s notice, she knew that when she needed help, he would be there for her.

She felt very fuzzy when he dropped her off at her door and quietly wished her goodnight. In another life, where Byleth had more confidence, this would have ended differently. She would have reached out and taken his hand. Maybe she would have asked him to linger a little while longer, maybe even invite him into her quarters.

Instead, she watched his retreating back as she closed the door.

That night, she dreamt of disorientation and a bloody war. She also dreamt of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I fudging with the canonical layout of the monastery? Sure. In my defense, I started this while having only played BL. Also, I figure this is more accurate to what I’m familiar with regarding Catholic parishes, so there.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests! Or even for other pairings!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos the last chapter and such! I really appreciate it!  
> Just as a warning, there is mention of vomit in the start of the chapter.  
> Enjoy!

Byleth would have punched the floor if it wouldn’t break her hand.

The puddle of bile on the floor taunted her as she cleaned it with a wet rag. This wasn’t the first time that day, much less that week that she found herself cleaning the floor after her stomach would decide to rebel.

For several days, she found herself retching as soon as she awoke in the morning, again halfway before noon, and sometime between lunch and dinnertime.

The first day, she wrote it off as something she ate the night before. She could’ve sworn the vegetables served with the fish tasted a bit off. Perhaps some of the fertilizer hadn’t been properly cleaned off.

When a week came and went, she knew that something wasn’t right. Even then, she tried to play it off to herself as stress and anxiety. That was the reason, nothing more. She just needed to drink more chamomile tea and try to sleep a bit better. Nothing more, nothing less.

Anyway, they were without their master healer after Manuela defected to the Empire and Ashe stuck her full of arrows. Byleth still saw her unseeing eyes and blood-speckled dress in her dreams.

She didn’t trust any of the new healers that the monastery employed. She trusted her students, but they were far from her now, returned to their respective regions. Mercedes would probably peck at her like a mother hen, pushing tea and cookies and wondering why Byleth simply didn’t take better care of herself.

Even the _thought_ of cookies and cake made her feel woozy.

This time, it had caught her off guard, bowing her over as nausea welled up and overcame her as she went to fetch a book from her room.

Though it wasn’t quite noon yet, she already decided the day was a wash. She wasn’t going to get anything done. Even the thought of doing her administrative duties made her want to sleep.

She shuffled to her desk and sat down heavily.

“What to do,” she mumbled to herself.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. Byleth didn't know when she dozed off, but when she awoke, she felt a yawning chasm of loneliness open up in her chest.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled out her inkwell and quill and several sheets of blank paper. She missed her students. She didn't miss the war and she didn't miss worrying about their survival, bur she missed seeing them in class every day and seeing them in the monastery halls.

With her new position, she couldn’t go to visit each of them. She could barely wander into town without the knowledge of her duties hanging over her like a cloud. She could only do the next best thing.

The letter to Fhirdiad, she addressed to both Dimitri and Dedue. Those two were inseparable and would likely read it together. As for the others, she erred to send letters to their respective dukedoms and residences and hope that couriers would have the wherewithal to take the letter to wherever the recipient was.

After beginning with the greeting, she floundered at what to say next. While it was less chaotic than the first months following the war’s end, there was still so much to talk about. Even the normally boring topics of crop yield and heads of cattle had potentially grave consequences.

_I hope things are well and that what knowledge I imparted on you has served you well in this new world we find ourselves in._

_Being archbishop is a lot harder than I thought. Sometimes I feel I will go mad from the amount of reports that get thrown at me. Rest assured, I am handling it and Seteth has been a valuable ally._

_I must confess that the halls of Garreg Mach aren’t the same without the Blue Lions. I hope that, once the recovery efforts are in a better spot, we can reunite again._

Byleth paused. She wasn’t sure how much time her students would have to read, much less respond, to her letters. She could only hope that they would respond.

From there, she wrote personalized letters to each of her students.

It would be a coin-toss between who answered the letter to Dedue and Dimitri, if the letter went answered at all.

Annette had left with Gilbert to reunite with her mother, Clara. Apparently, Baron Dominic’s stunt during the war with the Hero’s Relic split the people’s opinions of the barony. There were those who thought him honorable for defending his ideals and his family. Others thought it disgraceful to betray the trust of the then-leader of Faerghus, as illegitimate as Cornelia was. To present a united front as a family would hopefully bolster faith in the Dominic family.

Felix had his hands full with the Fraldarius dukedom, now that he was the only living heir. Sylvain had eagerly come to his friend’s aid, his attentions split between his own recovering territory and keeping Felix from going insane from the stress.

Ashe likely didn't fare much better, the house of Lord Lonato similarly heirless. She wasn’t sure what sort of titles needed to be signed and granted to officially give the dukedom to Ashe, but she would lend her assistance if required.

Ingrid had taken her pegasus and returned to House Galatea, but rumor was that she would not stay at home for very long. If her father’s penchant for trying to get her married off told Byleth anything, she knew that Ingrid would find herself back in Fhirdiad or at Garreg Mach within the next couple of months.

Mercedes had returned to her mother, but had mentioned something about opening an orphanage in one of the poorer districts of Fhirdiad. Byleth had already given her blessing, though Mercedes was going to do it whether Byleth did so or not. Byleth was just waiting for word so she may add funding to the Church’s budget.

Byleth missed them all. She took her meals in her room more often than not. She was an aberration, out of place, in the dining hall as Archbishop. Nobody was close enough to her to dare sit with her, not that she would be much of a conversationalist anyway.

She finished her letter to Annette and added it to the pile before scrubbing her face with her hands. Even getting through half of the letters made her fatigued.

Pulling out a scrap of paper, she scrawled a short note and handed it to the nearest person in the hallway. She had to forego her meeting with Seteth. She just needed the night in. One of the cooks would bring her food in the evening if it was clear she wasn’t going to the mess hall to eat. Also, she probably looked like a mess and she didn't want Seteth to worry over her. His judgment was what she feared the most, whether she liked it or not.

The rest of the letters came slowly. She had to redo her letter to Ashe when she accidentally disturbed the inkwell and spilled some onto the paper.

Finally, she had a small stack of letters, all neatly folded and closed with the Archbishop’s official seal.

“There,” she murmured.

She couldn't be bothered to find a courier at that hour, so she left them on her desk and wandered to bed. The sun hadn’t even met the horizon, but all she could think of was sleep.

She stripped to her underwear and crawled into bed. The sheets were too cold, the still air cold as well. The fireplace had reduced to embers, but she had no energy to stoke the flames. Instead, she buried herself in mountain of blankets, and waited for sleep to take her.

* * *

Her dreams didn't often visit the monastery. They were usually hazy and of far-away battles.

This time, she found herself descending down stone steps towards the tiny graveyard near the edge of the monastery grounds. Her conscious self knew that she hadn’t visited the grave since the battle of Enbarr, but she didn't know why she was visiting it now. Everything about it felt too sharp, too bright.

Byleth was steps from the gravestone when she blinked and suddenly there was a woman in her path. She recoiled, her hand going for a sword on her hip that wasn’t there.

The woman watched her with a smile. It was a painfully familiar smile, not quite reaching her eyes.

“Look at you,” she murmured, all affection and a tone that she had heard before but never directed at her.

Byleth’s mouth flapped wordlessly. It was like looking it a mirror, only a distorted one, halfway between the past and the future. The woman had long hair, halfway between green and blue. Her eyes were the same color, overly bright with shining tears.

“You became exactly what you were meant to be,” the woman whispered.

Byleth was shock-still as the woman reached out a pale hand and brushed over the strands of light green hair.

“Who are you?” Byleth managed to choke out.

The woman smiled again, looking her over as her hand ghost over Byleth’s cheek and down her jaw. “It matters little, who I am. You, my child, are exactly who you are supposed to be,” she murmured.

Her eyes were fixed to Byleth’s torso.

“My poor child,” she said. Tears dribbled down her cheeks, turning to blood as they dripped off her face.

Byleth knew this was a dream, but it felt like a warning.

“What is your name?” Byleth asked, though she didn't expect an answer. Answers eluded her in wakefulness, the same while she slept. The woman smiled one last time and her hand dropped from her face. Instead of answering, she moved around Byleth, walking away from the cemetery.

Byleth couldn't move to watch her leave, instead, she could only stare at the void she left.

“My poor child.” Byleth’s mouth moved around the words, but it wasn’t _quite_ her voice.

She wavered where she stood as the air around her seemed to chill. The parched grass at her feet darkened from tan to brown to black.

Byleth recoiled, stepping away from the gravestone, only for her feet to stick to the putrid dirt. It was entrails and blood and rot, remnants of an endless war. It crept up her legs, either the mound of death getting taller or her body was simply sinking down into it.

The gravestone eroded before her eyes, crumpling into nothing.

She was sinking into the bloody earth, choking on filth. She couldn't open her mouth to yell for help, for anyone. The stench of death filled her nose and closed over her head.

She jerked awake in horror and bile choking her.

She screwed her face as she swallowed the foulness back down. She had already ruined one bedspread and wasn’t about to ruin another.

She didn't often dream. When she did, it was often hazy and cryptic, or sharp and terrifying.

“A nightmare,” she breathed.

As the adrenaline drained, the cold air sent chills down her spine. She flopped back into bed with a thump, soaking in the heat from the covers.

If her heart could beat, it would have pounded its way through her ribcage. Instead, she wanted to climb out of her skin. The wet and warm sensation of sinking into the earth was still a ghost of a sensation. There was the sinking, and then there was that woman. Byleth had forgotten what she had looked like before Sothis had merged with her. She had forgotten how blue her eyes were and how dark her hair was.

The green was different, and it almost felt more like what she was meant to be, just like what the woman said.

Sleep wouldn’t find her again; that much was clear. With the frensy of a madwoman, she pulled on her warmest clothes and strode outside. Dawn had just started to brighten the sky.

She was going to go fishing.

It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself. Her stipend and what funds she had received doing work for Fódlan during her professor days largely sat unspent. She didn't have much to desire. She had her own personal supply of fishing bait and her collection of teas and various odds and ends that had caught her eye.

She supposed that the greatest luxury she ever had was her father’s ring and that wasn’t even hers anymore.

As Byleth passed by the greenhouse, she realized that she had neglected to visit in many months. Dedue’s Duscuri plants had bloomed and thrived, the last time she checked. She remembered giving the order to the staff there to take care of those plants as if they were their most valuable crops.

She had missed gardening. Maybe once the marketplace was full of vendors again, she would buy some seeds and grow some plants of her own. The greenhouse keeper had been gracious when Byleth had first arrived, even assisting her with planting the seeds she scrounged. Now, Byleth considered herself experienced in the art of gardening

Byleth collected the necessary fishing supplies and carried to the dock a pail of bait and a big bucket full of lake water. She stood at the edge, placed the first bit of bait on the hook, and cast the line.

She liked to think she had a knack for fishing. It helped the cooking staff and it brightened her students’ faces when she would catch something particularly tasty.

The carp that found itself on the line looked hardy enough to feed at least one person. She dropped it into the bucket full of water.

She cast the line again, using one of the live baits.

Byleth thought of Flayn and wondered if her dalliance with Claude was still going strong. She had been the object of affection for many students during her time at the monastery. Perhaps it was the fact that she was this unattainable goal. Flayn was so pretty and ethereal-looking that she could have had a different partner every month if she wanted.

Flayn had made her choice in Claude, taking it upon herself to keep him alive while Edelgard’s forces closed in on him. Seteth was almost sure to go mad with concern as he was stuck on the other side of the battlefield. When the dust cleared and they were found in an intense conversation by the docks, either Seteth chose to ignore or was completely ignorant of their intimate proximity.

She kept fishing until the rising sun glinted off of the water’s surface, nearly blinding her when her eyes wandered in the wrong direction.

Blinking back spots in her vision, she trudged up to the kitchens and set the near-full bucket down at the back entrance, nearly scaring to death one of the cooks who had wandered outside. It was early enough that they were clearly in the middle of making breakfast.

“My Lady?” the cook sputtered, scrambling to bow in reverence.

Byleth straightened from where she bowed over her catches.

“Good morning. Ruby, yes?”

Ruby bowed lower. “Ah, yes, my Lady. I didn't know you remembered my name.”

She had been one of the first to return during the war. Byleth had learned all the names of the cooking staff, committing them to memory.

Her eyes roamed over the bucket at Byleth’s feet and brightened.

“Ah! This will be lovely for tonight’s meal,” she exclaimed.

Byleth nodded. “I’m glad. I thought some early morning fishing would be helpful.”

“Yes, but we have staff who can do that! You shouldn’t trouble yourself with such things, my Lady.”

The statement soured Byleth’s stomach. Of course, she wasn’t _supposed_ to be doing it. She definitely didn't see Rhea fishing or in the training grounds when she was archbishop. Byleth smiled tightly and bid Ruby farewell.

The thought of continuing to fish, in full view of anyone who passed by, was a tempting one. Instead, she put away her rod and bait, and trudged back to her quarters.

* * *

The next day, Byleth found herself drifting between her office and her bedroom. She could only sit at her desk for so long before she longed for the softness of her bed. The idleness that came from lying in bed would have her returning to her desk to at least poke at the papers that piled high.

A delegation from Duscur would arrive in Fhirdiad within the month. The first steps of reconciliation would come to pass. Byleth had already given her blessing to the arrangement, wholeheartedly.

Dedue and Dimitri both suffered in the wake of the Tragedy. They both deserved some sort of peace from it, especially as the truth had come to light over the course of the war.

She flung open the windows, hoping that keeping the place cold would keep her from sleeping and instead focus on her work.

There was the tentative start of literacy classes in the coming month. There had been three dozen people signed up for the classes, young and old, surprisingly. A trove of writing supplies had been abandoned during the onset of the war, so there was no shortage of that.

They did, however, need to use all three classrooms. That brought a swell of pride that almost bowled her over.

It wouldn’t chase away all of the ghosts that lingered. She tried not to think about the students from Golden Deer and Black Eagles that she had to injure, even kill, under her command.

Hubert had fallen from his horse with a gurgle, Ingrid’s lance piercing his chest, faithful to Edelgard in the very end.

Byleth had knocked Linhardt hard on his ass during the fight at Fort Merceus, enough to see his eyeballs rattling in his head. He had regarded her with a bleary expression from where he sat on the bloodied stone, a tired child, unwilling to beg for his life. She had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and told him to run. Run as far as he could to the Alliance troops, beg for mercy. He obeyed, glancing over his shoulder as if she was going to kill him with his back turned,

Most of their former friends didn't want to hurt her, or the other students. It was for the sake of their own causes. She could say the same about her students. Most of them didn't want to kill their former classmates. Every time, she would comfort them when they watched them die or be forced to kill them.

Their former classmates were buried in the same hole as their underlings, but after the battles would settle, she and the Blue Lions would say at least something nice about the fallen.

It was really all they could offer.

Byleth’s stomach turned at the memories. If war never found Fódlan again, she would be satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Seteth this chapter but he will return soon :D  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	5. Breaking Bread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late-ish upload but I was busy playing Animal Crossing and almost scalding my fingers on Easter ham.  
> But Happy Easter and Happy (late) Passover and Happy Sunday to you all!  
> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos the last chapter and such! I really appreciate it!  
> Enjoy!

She remembered her first kill.

Byleth had been young, perhaps only ten years old. Age and time had been so hazy at the time that even in present day she couldn’t be sure. Her father and his company had settled outside of a nearby town. Byleth had gone into town to pick up some more supplies. One of the men had broken his whetstone and they were out of spares. Jeralt had ushered her to go, as if to keep her away from the company for a little while.

She had run her errand and picked up some dried jerky from one of the townspeople to eat on the walk back to camp. There were very few people on the road: a wagon here, a person there. She hadn’t been paying much attention. The jerky was satisfying, as satisfying as it could be to someone who had no preference for food one way or another.

It wasn’t until someone stepped into her line of view that her meandering thoughts paused. She had looked up to see a man standing in front of her, twice, maybe three times her age, and at least a foot taller than her.

“Where are you going, little lady?” he drawled.

Byleth watched him, unsure of why he stood in front of her. It was obvious that she was in the middle of something. His hair was unkempt, eyes bloodshot, and clothes rumpled. He clearly didn't care that he was interrupting her.

“Get out of my way,” Byleth said flatly. “Please.”

She just wanted to get back to her tent to eat her jerky and to practice her swordplay.

“Aw, no need to be like that. Come here.”

He lunged forward, grabbing at her as he leered lasciviously.

She had her dagger out before her brain could catch up. She did exactly where her father had taught her. Byleth struck upwards, the blade entering just under his jaw.

The man’s eyes widened as she stepped closer, pushing the dagger in to the hilt and slashing through the meat of his neck. He fell with a pathetic gurgle as his hands clutched at the wound. Blood sprayed and bubbled from his throat, pooling dark around his head.

Byleth felt nothing. She didn't even feel disgust at the blood that dripped over her hand and stained her clothes.

Jeralt had been wide-eyed when she approached camp.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She had shrugged, as nothing had happened. “Someone attacked me.”

“Where are they?”

She gestured behind her. “Somewhere over there. He’s dead.”

Jeralt’s eyes fell to the bloody dagger in her hand and seemed to understand.

Byleth didn't know what happened to the body, if Jeralt had brought it into town so the death could be recorded or if it was simply buried, with hope to be forgotten. It was never brought up again and the world continued.

That same blade sat on her desk in its blue sheath.

She had killed many more people since then, with that dagger, with swords and lances and even her bare fists. She wasn’t sure why that particular incident came to mind of all days.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she tucked the dagger in one of the drawers, out of sight. It was one of the few actual gifts Jeralt had ever given her, that and the ring. Everything else was bequeathed to her when he died. Even thinking about it made her sad. The things he gave her just reminded her of his death and the mystery surrounding his life.

The feeling of malaise hadn’t abated since she had sent the letters to her former students earlier that week. Her weight hadn’t changed, but that was because she was putting more food in than what was coming up. The cooks who would hand-deliver food to her office always made a point to over-serve than under-serve, knowing her habits well.

She wasn’t going to complain, though every day she would look at herself in the mirror and search for signs of wasting.

Chasing those thoughts away, she returned to the report she was _supposed_ to review.

This dukedom—she had already forgotten the name—needed another 30 heads of cattle to sustain their population? Or they lost that many since the beginning of the year? Either way, she considered sending a curt message reminding that the dukedom may want to try downsizing their own estate before crawling to the Church for money.

The letter was already drafted in her mind when there was a short series of knocks at the door. She glanced out the window to see that sunset had come and gone. She had barely noticed, with her many candles and blazing fireplace providing enough light.

“Come in,” she called out.

Instead of a cook bearing a wooden serving tray, Seteth stood in her doorway.

Byleth straightened in her chair, unable to hide a surprised expression. “Good evening, Seteth. I wasn’t expecting you.”

He smiled with a nod. “Good evening, Archbishop.”

Silence reigned for a moment as they watched each other. Her fingers skittered over the edges of the report, worrying at the paper corners.

“Is there something you need? I know I’ve been skipping out on our recent meetings, but I have nothing prepared right now,” Byleth said.

She had made countless excuses to get out of meetings on the days that she knew that her stomach would revolt against her.

Seteth shook his head. “No, nothing like that,” he said. “Join me for dinner. The dining hall should be almost empty by now.”

Byleth blinked at him, startled by the request. “O—okay. Give me a moment.”

He looked so relieved by the acceptance and it tugged at her chest. She wasn’t as kind as she should’ve been the past several weeks.

It was easier to hide her near-incessant sickness if she was locked in her office with few visitors. That also meant kicking Seteth out of her office the moment she felt the nausea come up. He always took it with grace, but every day she dreaded the moment when he would snap right back at her or demand the truth. He was too kind and understanding with her. There was a time that such things wouldn’t be allowed. A new professor couldn't hide from the Archbishop’s right hand, especially in the beginning where he always looked at her like she was something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

Seteth bowed out, shutting the door.

Byleth smoothed a hand over her hair and pulled on her coat. She really wasn’t ready for such a request. She didn't even remember if she had properly brushed her hair that morning and now it was too late for her to fix it. Self-conscious, she dabbed a little fragrance on her wrists and throat, feeling a flutter in her stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with how her stomach had flipped and writhed earlier in the day.

The thought of seeing a healer crossed her mind for the umpteenth time, but she once again ignored it. She was fine. She was _going_ to be fine, at least. She just needed to keep up the charade in front of Seteth. Goddess knew what kind of reaction he would have if she started retching right in front of him.

Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped out into the night air to meet Seteth. If her cheeks heated at the sight of Seteth staring pensively into the empty courtyard, the torches on the walls casting striking shadows across his features, she expertly hid it.

“Shall we?” Byleth said, clearing her throat.

He started at the sound of her voice. “Ah, let’s.”

Seteth didn't offer his arm to her this time. He had asked about any more fainting spells, but she had assured him that no such thing was happening anymore. Of course, she had traded fainting for vomiting, but he didn't need to know that.

They were quiet during the walk from her quarters to the dining hall.

The greenhouse doors were closed and the dock was empty as they passed. After getting a taste of fishing after so long, Byleth found herself wishing she had more time to wander and do the things she did as professor.

“Reminds you of simpler times, hm?”

Byleth shrugged, tearing her eyes away. “I guess I didn't appreciate it when I was a professor. Now, I find myself not having time to do things that I would like to do, if the urge strikes.”

“I could always commute some of your paperwork to me so you may have time to indulge.”

She immediately shook her head at that. “Not necessary. I will find time if I find time.”

Seteth didn't protest, maybe not wanting to start a debate as they entered the dining hall. He wasn’t wrong that the hall would be basically empty at the time.

There were two priests in the back, deep in conversation. One of the cooks milled around in the front, immediately snapping to attention when he saw the two of them.

“My Lady, Seteth, please have a seat. We will bring out your meals.”

They sat down across from each other at one of the tables, a healthy distance away from the kitchen doors. Byleth didn't feel self-conscious as the cook set two plates of food in front of her while Seteth had his one.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Trout, my Lady, sautéed with herbs and summer vegetables.”

Byleth nodded her thanks as the server retreated back to the kitchens.

She glanced back to see Seteth had clasped his hands together and ducked his head. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips moved around a silent prayer.

He always did that whenever they shared meals together. Byleth would only watch in a respectful silence.

Praying outside of ceremony felt strange to her. It wasn’t something that she was used to. Jeralt had steered her away from Church buildings, even though after his death, Alois had noted that he was one of the most pious people he had known. At least, he was before Byleth’s birth, apparently. Was he only disgruntled with Rhea, or with the Goddess herself?

Nothing was mentioned in his journals, so she could only assume that they information was lost to death.

She glanced down at her plate a moment before Seteth’s eyes flickered open.

“It smells good,” Seteth said.

She nodded, stuffing a hunk of fish into her mouth to avoid blurting something embarrassing. They couldn't exactly talk specifics in such a public space, though the dining hall was nearly empty.

“How’s recruitment?” she asked.

Seteth shrugged, his brow tightening. “It is difficult to draw people into the priesthood in such troubled times. Our best candidates wish to keep close to their families and hometowns. We are barely able to parcel out stipends as it is, so that’s no temptation.”

She shoveled vegetables into her mouth, absorbing what he was saying. It was true that recruitment into the priesthood was down, but it was to be expected. After the war, those who worked at Garreg Mach and couldn't return during the last months of the war due to fear or necessity, returned in droves.

While Byleth knew that part of it was because the monastery was one of the few major institutions still standing that could provide work and lodgings, the pushback to Edelgard’s war was in full-force. She had destroyed their livelihoods and the desire to return to some stability was something that almost everyone in Fódlan struggled to fulfill.

“I think we should focus on retaining who we have, for now. Can’t have people leaving because we cannot support them,” she murmured.

Seteth made a sound of agreement. “Very well. I shall change our focuses there. Perhaps, the literacy classes would be a morale boost.”

Byleth nodded with a small smile. She couldn't wait to see the halls filled with students again. Most would be younger than those who used to attend the Officers’ Academy, but it filled her with excitement all the same.

Byleth finished her two servings at the same time Seteth finished his one. She supposed in another life, she would be embarrassed by that fact.

“How goes your tasks?” Seteth asked, watching her as he took a long drink from his water glass. “I feel like I have seen you more in your office than out.”

Byleth internally cringed, taking the subtle insinuation that her recent actions were suspicious as it was. She had little to hide. Her illness was her business, not his. She didn’t fall behind in her paperwork and made her mandatory appearances for the Church. If that changed, she would say something.

Even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She would likely hide this until she was on her deathbed, if needed. “Where there are no papers to grades, there are reports to read and budgets to sign,” she murmured. “It’s a lot.”

“Troops to move, aid to distribute,” Seteth drawled.

Fódlan was slowly coming together, after being shattered to pieces. There was little time to be an actual archbishop, with performing ceremonies and meeting believers. She was an administrator with a title.

“I suppose this is better than a war. Keeping the Church running is easier than fighting for our lives every day.”

“Being at peace is its own challenge,” Seteth allowed. “We must always be ready for war.”

Byleth knew Seteth was right, but that didn't stop the fatigue from settling over her at the thought of another war. She poked at the fish spine that sat on her plate, all the meat already picked off.

She shook her head. “I know I should be prepared, but part of me never wants to raise a sword again.”

If the Sword of the Creator could sit in her closet and collect dust for the rest of her life, she would be fine with it. Using it felt uncomfortably natural, as if it were an extra limb sewn onto her. It was efficient, a brutal killing machine. It helped win the war, but it wasn’t hers, Crest Stones be damned.

“I’m just tired,” Byleth confessed softly.

She could imagine Seteth’s wince of sympathy. “I’m sure Rhea would be able to give you more insight. Perhaps you should visit?”

Byleth didn't look up from her worrying at the fish bones and managed to pry off a tiny piece of meat that hid between two of the ribs. Rhea had her comfortable little cottage in Zanado, just far enough to be out of the way.

“I don't want to talk to Rhea,” she mumbled. Byleth glanced up to see Seteth eyeing her. He always _watched_ her, very open about it, and she could never be sure what he saw. She shrugged and looked back down at her plate. “Sometimes I feel like I have been set up. You weren’t able to find much insight into my birth, were you?”

“Outside of what I had told you before, no,” Seteth replied.

That Rhea was responsible for her existence. That was the extent of it. Byleth knew some truth, something she kept hidden from everyone else. To be touched by the Goddess was very much different from being one with the Goddess.

Records of her mother’s name were nonexistent. Whatever truth existed could only be found in Rhea’s mind and she was happily in her retirement.

“It just seems too convenient that I was born through Rhea’s assistance, only to succeed her as Archbishop,” she mumbled.

Seteth leaned forward, brow serious, but not angry. “You received this position through your own merit, not just because of your Crest or what happened when you were a child or what happened in that dark place.”

Her mouth twisted sarcastically. “A mercenary and a professor, not exactly the career path to Archbishop.”

“You know how to lead and inspire. You know that your students would not have turned into the people they are had it not been for you. I know, I certainly wouldn’t be the same man.”

Byleth looked to him in shock. He always seemed to know what to say that would knock her off guard. She didn't remember doing such things during the war.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“I do.”

Silence slammed between them as something crushingly heavy and impossibly light seemed to bloom in her chest.

They fought side-by-side for months, even joining in battles before the war. There were the ambling conversations when they were exhausted, post-battle.

She wanted to reach out to touch, dozens and hundreds of times. She never had the courage. Even now, months after working so closely together towards a common goal, her unbeating heart failed her again.

“I—,” she started, only to pause when someone stepped into her periphery.

It had taken her months to not immediately go on the defensive at any quick movements, and this was no exception. She felt her spine stiffen as she slowly turned to the movement. Her hand drifted for a moment towards a sword that wasn’t there.

A cook, different from the one who greeted them earlier, paused and seemed to shrink away from Byleth’s gaze. “Pardon me. I wanted to see if you wanted dessert and if I could clear your plates.”

Byleth relaxed, watching the man—boy, really—shuffle in place at the end of the table, plate of pastries in hand.

She nodded with a smile. “I would like some, yes.”

The cook set the plate down between them, collected their dirty dishes, and scurried back into the kitchens.

Byleth tucked in, apologetically.

“Not going to indulge, Seteth?” she wondered after the third cookie, remembering her manners.

Seteth seemed to struggle to hide a smile and instead, shrugged. “I don't have much of a sweet tooth.”

The idea of having preference was still alien to her. As long as it was edible and didn't smell too foul, she really didn't care what was put in front of her. She liked sweet and savory and everything in between.

“Hm, you never have any of the cakes when we have tea together,” she mused. “Sometimes, I wondered why I bothered bringing them if you weren’t going to eat.”

“ _You_ always ate them.”

She gestured at him with a half-eaten cookie. “True.”

She nudged the plate over, leaving three cookies for him.

“I think those ones are gingersnaps,” she said around a mouthful.

He looked at her face, to the plate, and back to her face.

“While I’m sure I don't have the authority to order you to eat some, I do insist,” Byleth said with a wry smile.

Seteth capitulated with a sigh, reaching across the table to pull the plate towards him. She noted how nice his hands looked, especially with the ring on his finger, and promptly kicked herself for letting such a thought into her mind.

“Don't want to finish the whole plate and end up waking up in the middle of the night, regretting your decisions?” Seteth joked quietly.

She regretted her food decisions every day, regardless of if she ate chilis or porridge. One too many cookies wasn’t going to change anything, but there was something about watching Seteth, her right hand, eat a cookie that made that strange heavy-light feeling return.

“Something like that, yeah,” she agreed.

Byleth opted for a half-truth. It seemed like it would the closest she could get to being honest with him about these things.

Her many omissions weighed down on her shoulders during the walk back towards their respective quarters. They parted ways when they approached the main building and Byleth watched Seteth’s back as he disappeared through the shadowy doorway.

She wanted to follow, but knew that it wasn’t possible. Keeping her ailment from him formed a chasm between them that she was too afraid to bridge.

She sighed as she trailed back to her lonely little fortress, willing herself to be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	6. To Protect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Hope you all had a good week!  
> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos the last chapter and such! I really appreciate it!  
> Enjoy!

Her illness had Byleth waking up at dawn, nausea chasing sleep away with a startling efficiency.

Dawn hadn’t even arrived yet, the sole light from the dim fireplace, giving the world an ethereal feeling. The swooping feeling in her gut told her that she was very much in her bedroom in Garreg Mach, not it some otherworldly place. She hunched over the side of her bed, frantically swallowing down the urge to vomit. Slowly, the feeling abated, leaving her feel drained and wired in equal measures.

“Dammit,” she breathed.

Clearly, this was some kind of a curse. Or maybe her body was punishing her for taking on so much work. She should’ve taken a sabbatical when she had the chance.

She rubbed the crust from her eyes and groped for the robe hanging near her bedside. The morning air was sharp and cold, even in the insulation of her bedroom. She recalled Annette telling her about some light magic spell that could quickly warm up clothes, but couldn't recall the technique.

Instead of going to her office and getting a head start on her work, as a smart person would, she stoked the fireplace and sat in the chair in front, letting the heat soak into her. There, she dozed until the morning sky lightened and she could distantly hear the monastery come to life around her.

She rose from her chair, changed into day clothes, and wandered to her office. Reconstruction puttered along, but when one fire was put out, it seemed like five fires started. This time, a treaty with Brigid was stonewalled by Imperial loyalists in the king’s cabinet. Allying with Petra had given Fhirdiad and the Church some leeway, but it was slow-going.

Ashe hadn’t responded to her letter, but she was considering sending a courier to his residence requesting that he join Petra in Brigid to ease negotiations. She knew of their connection during the war and it could only help with a Fódlandian with connections to both the victorious army and the princess at the negotiating table.

It would also make Petra smile and she didn't smile too much after finding herself facing her former allies in the battlefield.

A short three knocks at the door had her jolting out of her reverie.

“Come in!” she called out.

A helmeted guardswoman peeked into the office before stepping through the doorway.

“Archbishop Byleth,” she greeted with a deep bow.

“Good morning,” Byleth replied. “Is something the matter?”

The woman shifted a little where she stood and cleared her throat. “Duke Felix Fraldarius and Margrave Sylvain Gautier have arrived at the monastery gates. They request a meeting with you. What shall I tell them?”

Byleth blinked wordlessly at her for a moment before shaking herself out of her daze. She had almost forgotten that the two of them had been given their rightful titles, making their names sound almost foreign to her for a moment. She had no idea why those two would come to the monastery.

The last time she remembered seeing them was at Dimitri’s coronation. Both were flushed with drink, Sylvain’s arm slung across Felix’s shoulders as they conversed with Annette and Mercedes, who were both similarly intoxicated. Annette, who had lingering injuries from Enbarr, leaned on her friends, smiling brightly, though she winced whenever her sling protecting her left shoulder was jostled. The memory made Byleth smile, despite the accompanying memories of being fawned over by nobles frantically seeking treaties from the Church.

“Ah, escort them to my office immediately. And have the kitchens bring some tea and breakfast. It must have been a long journey for them,” she ordered.

“Shall I fetch Seteth as well?”

Byleth couldn't help the feeling of hesitation. She had met her students without Seteth’s presence during the war, and her new position shouldn’t change such a thing. She didn't need him around for every meeting she ever had. Even as she thought it, the thought of purposely excluding him turned her stomach. He was either going to show up regardless of invitation or would grill her later about what had gone on in the meeting.

“Might as well,” Byleth sighed.

The guard bowed out and as the door shut, Byleth could hear her shout at someone nearby to find Seteth and to bring food to her quarters.

Another thing she had to get used to: being obeyed in places that weren’t the battlefield. She had commanded respect as professor and pseudo-general for the Kingdom army, but to have that same obedience in the everyday monotony still felt strange. She knew that the dining staff would be falling over themselves to fulfill Byleth’s wishes and whoever was sent to find Seteth would rush to get their job done.

She had little time to think how her two former charges could have changed since the last time they had seen each other, though any shock pales in comparison to seeing them after 5 years of sleep.

All of her students had grown, for better or worse, without her guidance. She supposed that had been her great achievement as a teacher that even the upheaval that was the war didn't break them fully. They were all sadder and scarred, but none of them lost their fire.

That session of bittersweet reminiscence, which she revisited more times that she liked to admit, was interrupted by a loud knock, following the door opening before she could even open her mouth to tell her guest to come in.

Seteth stepped into the room, eyes wild until they found Byleth sat at her desk. “By—Archbishop. I was told to find you. Is something wrong?”

Byleth gaped at him for a moment before stifling a laugh, ignoring the way her heart swooped at the idea of Seteth dropping everything when she needed him.

“There was no need for such urgency. Felix and Sylvain are here to meet with me. I thought it best that you attend—.” She paused and choked around the words, “Attend by my side.”

Seteth cleared his throat. “Ah. I see.”

Now, they found themselves both flustered: Seteth at his mad rush and Byleth for her slip into something that felt too familiar.

Almost like a blessing, another knock at the door broke the awkward air that surrounded them.

The same guardswoman from before stepped in with her two charges looming behind her.

“Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier, my Lady.”

Byleth rose from her chair and rounded the desk. “Thank you. Please, leave us.”

They hadn’t grown any more than what she remembered, but even a year changed a lot. Felix’s hair was longer, pulled by a thin red ribbon. Sylvain's features continued to lose their baby fat and there was a faint scar on his chin. She could imagine him smirking at how girls loved a man with a scar.

Even as she approached, she wondered if it was proper to embrace them. She was used to friendly arms slung across her shoulders and the occasional hug when she was their professor. Now that she was Archbishop and they were no longer her students, what were they to each other?

As if Sylvain had sensed her hesitation, he stopped and held out his hand with a cheeky smile. She watched him with a small smile of her own as she reached out to meet his offered hand.

“Your Holiness,” Sylvain, pressing a kiss to her hand. Somehow, his smile grew bigger as his eyes flickered to where she assumed Seteth stood. She didn't know why.

Felix, who looked rather haggard and tired where he hovered just at Sylvain’s shoulder, offered her a smirk as a greeting.

“Please, have a seat, both of you,” Byleth said, gesturing to the chairs across from her desk.

Byleth rounded her desk and sat. She already knew that Seteth wouldn’t sit and seemed to satisfy himself by standing by her right hand.

The two men settled in the seats, immediately making themselves comfortable.

“I’m guessing this doesn’t have anything to do with my letters,” Byleth started.

The two men stared blankly at her, which was an answer of itself.

Byleth tilted her head in confusion. Surely, the couriers would have reached their destinations by now, and she would’ve heard word if they had been waylaid by bandits en route to their territories. “I sent letters to your respective households weeks ago.”

Sylvain shrugged with a toothy smile. “Well, I’ve been away from my own residence more often than not. Felix here doesn’t have that excuse.”

“It should’ve been brought to me immediately. It’s probably still sitting on my desk.” Felix sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me to fire my secretary.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be difficult, Fi,” Sylvain hissed with put-upon sympathy.

“What do you mean, Sylvain?” Felix asked, words sharp.

Sylvain continued with the same careless, drawling tone that was signature to who he was. “I know you hired that redhead to replace another certain redhead. Of course, not me, since I’m obviously irreplaceable. But, another little bird with the voice of an ang—.”

A bright flush spread over Felix’s face as his hands twitched for the sword at his hip. “Don’t you dare—”

Byleth cleared her throat loudly, raising a brow at the two men across from her. Sylvain had his familiar shit-eating grin while Felix had a blush high on his cheeks and teeth bared in a snarl.

“I am sure you had plenty of bickering during your journey south to here. The Archbishop is quite busy. Please, state your business,” Seteth sighed. Byleth didn't need to look to figure his face was pinched in annoyance.

“Ah, Seteth, never change,” Sylvain chirped.

At that moment, one of the dining staff shuffled in with a rolling cart. Pastries and eggs and sausage covered the offered plates, along with a large teapot and supplies for tea. Sylvain and Felix nearly attacked it, each man piling plates high with food. Felix still clearly steamed from Sylvain’s antics, but she was sure that he would air his irritation again on the training ground.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Felix said stiffly and Sylvain hummed in agreement, mouth full of jelly-filled roll.

“The pleasure is ours. You are the first to visit since Dimitri’s coronation but it seems everyone has been busy,” Byleth said, eyeing the cart herself. She really should have asked the kitchen to bring enough food for her as well.

Felix sighed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Seteth pressed.

He sounded impatient, rankled almost. Byleth wanted to turn to ask why, but decided that he likely wasn’t going to tell her even if she asked.

Sylvain crossed his arms over his chest. “Felix has a bandit problem on his lands and it was bad enough that my territory was being affected as well. It doesn’t help that I have to deal with Sreng sticking their noses where they don't belong.”

“We’ve gotten most of them, but it seems their hideout is a few miles from the monastery,” Felix added. “Rumor has it that the same bandits have been causing problems throughout Fódlan. I’m sure you have read reports. Call themselves ‘Death’s Hand’ or ‘Pluto’s Hand’, depending on who you ask.”

Byleth nodded, propping her chin on her hand. The name was familiar, but it was one of many small organizations that had come from war-torn disorder to linger during reconstruction.

“I see. You are seeking our blessing to fight so close to the monastery?” Byleth asked. As the story unfolded, she wondered why they would come to recount this to her personally. Surely, the issue would be more asking permission of whichever lord owned the land where the hideout was, not the Church.

“Something like that.”

“We are asking for more direct assistance,” Sylvain said, a little more direct than Felix was.

She nodded along, already thinking of how to reorganize the knights who were stationed in the monastery and nearby to offer some help.

“It shouldn’t be a surprise to you, but we have very few knights to spare," Seteth spoke up before she had the opportunity to open her mouth. "Reconstruction is slow-going and the monastery still needs to be protected.”

She was honestly expecting Seteth to shoot down that idea. Even though there was real value in getting rid of any bandit group, there were bigger things to think about. Even as she thought it, those bureaucratic, pragmatic things, she felt dirty. There would be time for both the grand picture and the smaller pieces that create peace in Fódlan.

Sylvain shrugged, pausing to sip at his cup of tea. “Knights are all well and good, but we were looking more for the help of our dear Ashen Demon, the same woman who lead us to victory against the Empire.”

The air seemed to still as the proposition hung there. It was something she considered the moment the bandits were mentioned, but she didn’t give any stock to.

The old moniker stuck out more than anything. Before Sothis, she was very much the Ashen Demon, able to cut people down without much remorse. After Sothis, she could feel regret and sorrow for those she felled, especially during a war when her blade crossed with those she once considered colleagues and students.

She was no Ashen Demon, but she could still fight.

“How about it, Professor? One more fight for the good old days?” Felix pressed. A challenge was plain in his voice, not unlike the dozens of times he had challenged her to duels.

Before Byleth could even think about responding, Seteth immediately cut in, “Absolutely not. We will not risk the Archbishop’s life in such a way.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes, as if he had already predicted his answer already. “Come on, Seteth. It’s not like Lady Rhea never set foot in a battlefield, right? She must’ve seen some action before and after she became Archbishop.”

Byleth glanced over to see a muscle jump in Seteth’s jaw. They had spoken about what they had seen during the Battle of Garreg Mach. A lot of it had been innuendo from Seteth, not explicit truth. He knew more about what had happened that what he let on.

At the time, she had let it go. What had happened over five years prior was of little consequence to the battles occurring at that time. Once Rhea was recovered from Enbarr, the conversation never came up again. The pale, frail woman looked nothing like the fearsome dragon that brought fire upon the Imperial army.

Byleth didn't have the excuse of years of captivity to keep her from battle. She was able, and her blade was mere feet away in her closet.

“These are the same bandits that we fought against all those years ago when my—my father called,” Felix sniffed. “Apparently, he didn't do enough to snuff them out at the time. Typical.”

Byleth could immediately tell that his derision for his late father was a front, if the sidelong glance Sylvain gave him told her anything. Rodrigue was dead, the eldest son dead as well. Felix was well and truly alone in Fraldarius territory.

She remembered his foaming grief and anger that had him in the training grounds for so long, punishing himself with every swing of his sword, that she had Annette drug his water so the man could get at least some sleep. Felix’s rage at being tricked was cooled by Annette's apologetic weeping and concern and Sylvain all-out shouting that Felix was going to kill himself at the rate he was going. Dimitri allowing himself to be Felix’s sparring partner and punching bag helped as well.

Goddess save her, she missed them. She missed fighting with them, even when their lives were at stake. they held each other up, through the endless tragedy of war.

Those times were passed, but even then, she couldn’t bring herself to outright refuse them.

Byleth collected some of the papers on her desk, shuffled them nervously, before setting them back in their place. “I shall consider it,” she finally said. “In the meantime, please, use the monastery as you please. Shore up your strength for battle. I am guessing you will be striking soon?”

Felix sighed, “Within the next couple of days. It was a long trip, so, the lodgings are appreciated.”

Her chest hitched in silent relief. She had time.

“Well, thanks for the tea and food, Professor. I think we shall take our leave. Felix?” Sylvain sighed.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The two men filed out, leaving Byleth and Seteth alone.

She glanced down at where her hands were clasped atop the desk and tried not to track Seteth's movement as he stepped from behind her to where Sylvain and Felix had sat.

“Archbishop—.”

Byleth sighed, scrubbing her face with her hands. She was very familiar with that tone of voice. He used it on Rhea when she did something that he thought was ill-advised and that didn't change now that Byleth was in Rhea’s position.

“Yes, Seteth?”

She looked up to see him glower at her. “You shall ‘consider it’? You know that this is a dangerous endeavor.”

Byleth supposed that his expression would have dissuaded others from doing things against his wishes, but it had little effect on her.

“I can imagine, but it sounds no different from the bandits we've fought in the past,” she said. “Felix is the best swordsman in all of Fódlan and Sylvain might as well be the Death Knight for how deadly he is on his horse.”

“I am not contesting their prowess as warriors. They have proved their mettle. I owe them my life as well as Flayn’s more times than I care to count.”

“Then I fail to see the issue why my coming with them is such an issue. You know _my_ mettle on the battlefield. The danger would be minimal,” Byleth countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

She could fight. Even after all that time since Enbarr, she could fight.

“The time for fighting bandits is over. We must be leaders. Others will draw swords on our behalf.”

“You didn't say that when people threatened Rhodos Coast. You went and fought.”

She wondered if his ears weren’t covered by his hair, if they would be red right now. It was a low blow and she knew it, but it felt so utterly backwards that now he fought to keep her away from battle.

“That is different. We weren’t at war,” Seteth replied stiffly.

“We aren’t at war now, either. The defense of a holy site and the defense of two men who are vital to rebuilding Fódlan have similar importance.”

She almost longed for the days when Seteth thought her no more than a useful tool for the Church, unconcerned for her safety if not for the concern from Rhea. At least, she would’ve had some modicum of freedom.

“I know you care for your students, but it—you aren’t only _their_ protector now. You are protector of all of Fódlan. You cannot show such favoritism, especially risking your life in doing so.”

A rebuke of his hypocrisy welled up, but she swallowed it down. Somehow, this whole argument only applied to her and putting herself in potential danger.

It felt like a twofold insult: to her ability and the value of his survival. Fódlan needed him alive when Rhodos Coast was threatened and Fódlan needed him now. She could still fight and she couldn't allow Sylvain and Felix to die.

“There really is no negotiating with you on the subject, is there?” she asked flatly.

Even from his posture, she could tell that he was steadfast in his refusal. This was something that he wouldn't agree to, ever.

“I couldn’t stand the idea of you being in danger, so, no. After everything, you...you deserve to put your sword away.”

She swallowed, suddenly unable look him in the eye. They both wore themselves down to the bone during the war, didn't they? However, he could leave it behind. She couldn't.

"You will you heed my advice?” he pressed.

Byleth nodded, still unable to look at him. “As I always do.” A lie, as it left her mouth.

She tried to not seem visibly deflated by Seteth’s lack of support as she forced herself to look up to where he stood. The way he stared at her, a mixture of sternness and pity, made it clear that she failed.

“I will try to see if we can spare a few knights. If we cannot, I can at least see if we have intelligence on the thieves to offer to them. We cannot offer them manpower, but at least some weapons and lodgings.”

“Very well. I shall leave that to you.”

She took the peace offering as it was. It only seemed right that he would lead in that effort to assist them.

“Is there anything else you need from me, Archbishop?”

She regarded him. Annoyance still bubbled in her stomach and she wanted to lash out so bad. Did he understand what position he put her in? She had shed so many parts of herself when becoming Archbishop. She put away her sword, her ability to move about the world freely.

If something happened, if one of them died on their mission, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.

“Archbishop?”

“No,” she barked, before lowering her tone. “No, nothing more. Thank you, Seteth. You may go.”

He didn’t seem hurt by the dismissal. He didn’t seem to even suspect that she wasn’t really capitulating to his wishes. Perhaps, he had so much trust in her and faith in his own abilities as counsel that he didn’t think that she would go down another path.

She could already imagine how he would spit and yell when he found out that she had left to fight.

For now, he watched her with that same gentle expression that felt like a balm over her nerves. How he was able to both rile her up with his stubbornness and soothe with a simple smile was a mystery to her.

She really needed to get this fluttery feeling out of her system. Remembering the peril that her students faced quickly stamped out the butterflies in her stomach.

“Until next time, Seteth.”

“Until next time.”

The smile dropped from her face and she clenched her hands into trembling fists.

Something horribly energized writhed in her stomach now: defiance and protectiveness. She knew that she protected her students like a lioness would protect her cubs. They had left to find their own paths in a post-war world, far from her watchful eye. The shadows of her dreams had her students falling to illness and to bandits and assassins, things she couldn't protect them from.

Now that the opportunity presented itself, she couldn’t resist. Her sword would tear through the air and find its target. There would be no dark mages to keep her from protecting her students.

Her position made this precarious; Seteth had made that clear.

If she went, she would go alone. She didn’t have the same pull amongst the Knights as Seteth did. There would be no chance to keep a secret from him if she tried to raise a squad to accompany her. He would do everything within his power to keep her from going. The thought of raising her sword against Seteth in defense of her students froze her chest.

She sighed and stood, only to catch herself on her desk as the world tipped on its side for a moment.

_“You should be more careful. You are frail as it is.”_

_“I was just_ fishing _, my dearest. See, no harm. Just stumbled a little.”_

_“If I had my way, you’d be lounging in our quarters and_ I _would be the one doing the fishing.”_

Her father’s voice and that of a stranger’s echoed in her head, a conversation that had no beginning or end.

Disembodied. A hallucination. Shaking her head and swallowing back the sudden lump that threatened to choke her, plans to visit the training grounds.

She had to be ready. If she was going to blatantly disregard Seteth’s perfectly sound advice, she needed to come back uninjured. Seteth would never let her hear the end of it otherwise.

* * *

Hours later, she stepped into the training grounds to find a familiar figure hacking at a training dummy. Clearly, the groundskeepers had been by to tidy things up and stock the area with the necessary training supplies.

“Good afternoon, Felix.”

The raven-haired man glanced back and grunted.

“Your Holiness,” he responded in a solid imitation of Sylvain’s voice.

A wordless understanding passed between them as she plucked a training sword from the rack and weighed it in her hand.

It had been a long time since she had a proper training partner.

“I relive those fights every night, you know,” Felix interjected before she could say anything. “Grondor, Fhirdiad, Enbarr. At any point, it could’ve been the end. We could’ve all died and the war would’ve been lost.”

“And yet, here we are. Victors.”

“Edelgard is dead and the boar has his throne. All is as Dimitri wanted it.”

The bitterness in his voice didn't go unnoticed. Nothing could change what had happened. Even her powers couldn’t spare Rodrigue's life or allow Edelgard to live to face trial. The choices had been made and they had to live with them.

Felix shook his head, as if Byleth had spoken her thoughts aloud. “Enough talk. Take up your sword and fight me.”

He brandished his sword. A scar on the back of his hand shined in the light: a blow from a mage that had crippled that hand for weeks. He forced himself to use his non-dominant hand while it healed. Felix derided Dimitri as a violent animal, but Felix could be just as dangerous. He was simply quieter about it.

Byleth struck first, gentler than usual to gauge what kind of duel Felix was looking for. The returning blow was so forceful it almost ripped the sword from her hand.

Her vision immediately narrowed, the fight in her veins.

“I’ll admit, I missed training with you,” Felix grunted. “It seems the only person around who is a worthy partner is Sylvain and he hardly indulges me anymore.”

That definitely felt like a compliment, but she didn’t bring it up. Compliments from Felix were few and far between.

“Nobody wants to duel with me. I guess they are worried about hurting the Archbishop.”

“A load of bullshit in my opinion. You should be like a sharpened sword, even if you’re spending all your time writing letters and reading letters and praying. It’s ridiculous. You’re a warrior and you’re _here_ , not out there actually getting things done.”

Byleth shrugged as she circled him. “I had a different calling, I guess. I doubt you wanted to be a duke, and yet, here you are.”

Felix’s brow tightened as he similarly looked for an opening.

“I guess. At least I have some people to duel with, though I wipe the floor with them every time. I’m not seated at a desk all day, getting soft.”

If she didn't know any better, she would’ve been miffed by the comment. He pushed himself out of pride and anger. Clearly, he thought she was failing herself in not training as hard as she used to.

She earned a break, as ill-advised as it was. She gave up everything, even a piece of her own humanity, to this war. It wasn’t an excuse that she could use against Felix. She watched her father die; he watched his die. She got cut up and burned from swords and arrows and magic; he faced the same. He was no less the warrior than he was when the sounds of battle died on Enbarr.

Felix really was more like Dimitri than he realized. Each blow of his sword was harsh and unforgiving. She wasn’t Archbishop when they fought; she was simply an opponent.

“Where’s the bandit hideout?” she asked, changing the subject.

“About an hour ride southwest of the monastery.”

“When are you going to strike?”

She jabbed forward, but he danced away before she could leave a bruise on his ribs.

“In two days, if all goes well. Still considering coming with us?”

“Considering it. Seteth already gave me his case on why I shouldn’t go.”

Felix curled his lip. “And I’ll give you our case. We need you on the battlefield, now as much as we did during the war and when we were students.” He paused, glancing away, before returning to the fight. “Also, we don't have anyone else as good at healing magic.”

“You couldn’t get Annette or Mercedes to join you?” Byleth asked, blinking at him.

“Mercedes is busy with her orphanage. As for Annette—Annette,” Felix suddenly. A blush bloomed high on his cheeks.

Byleth swung her sword and struck him in the hip. Felix leapt away, hissing at the stinging blow.

“You’re trying to distract me,” he snapped.

“If you say so. She is a pretty woman.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The lingering blush told her that it had everything to do with it.

He huffed a sigh, suddenly defensive. “I’m sure she would come running if she knew that Sylvain and I were fighting against bandits. She wouldn’t hesitate. I don’t want her anywhere near it.”

“You’re protecting her?” Byleth asked.

“You remember her injuries from Enbarr. She says she is fully healed and assisting her uncle, but I don’t believe it. Her letters—,” He cut himself off and bared his teeth. “I don’t want her anywhere near it,” he repeated.

Byleth nodded as she quickly disarmed Felix and his sword clattered to the ground.

And that was that.

* * *

The following day, she scrawled a note on a piece of paper and handed it to a passing nun.

“Take this to either Margrave Gautier or Duke Fraldarius. Directly, to no one else.”

The message was short.

_Prepare a horse for me. I will ride with you at dawn tomorrow._

_-B_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music plays*  
> Okay, so I'm more than likely going to be taking a week break from posting, since next chapter is going to be a long one. If I do manage to finish it, well, surprise!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	7. Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient with me through this one-week hiatus! This chapter ended up being longer than most of my normal one-shots so…yay!  
> Thank you to everyone who kudos and commented!  
> Enjoy!

Hands skittered over her armor as Byleth tended to it, easing away the months of disuse in preparation for battle.

She retired early that night, blowing off Seteth with an excuse that was pathetically transparent. Seteth allowed it, unsuspecting that his Archbishop was going into battle against his wishes. Guilt and nausea rose in tandem at his trusting, if not disappointed, smile as he bid her a good night.

Sleep would only elude her, but she made an attempt as the armor oil smell had her nose wrinkling. It was the smell of month-long campaigns during the war and bone-aching exhaustion.

Dark and unintelligible were the brief snatches of sleep. She was lucky for that, awakening before dawn's light.

The rest was mindless routine, as if the war had never ended. She had some bread from the night before and some sweet jam as a quick breakfast. She strapped on her armor, her dagger strapped to her belt and the Sword of the Creator on her hip.

Her form had gotten a little softer and the armor was tighter around her torso than what she remembered. She couldn't help but pout, thinking of how she ought to visit the training grounds more often, for the sake of her health if nothing else.

She had made an effort to go at least three times a week to keep her abilities sharp and being kept awake from her illness gave her time to practice magic. It was nowhere near Mercedes and Annette and what wonders they could perform, but she could save a life in a pinch.

Unlike the dozens of times before battle, she felt the anxiety vibrating under her skin. It had been a while, but she couldn't fail.

Sucking in a breath, she stepped out of her room. The thought of leaving a note pulled at her, a preemptive apology to Seteth or whoever would come to her office expecting her to be there.

She could only hope that her long cloak and hood would hide her telltale hair and the battle-ready armor.

As she walked through the monastery halls, she was sure she would get caught before meeting Sylvain and Felix. Dressed for war, with the Sword of the Creator at her hip? She practically screamed that she was up to something.

As if she had been hidden her entire walk to the monastery gates, she wasn’t disturbed. Nary an eye wandered to see what she was doing or where she was going.

Felix and Sylvain waited outside the monastery gates, tending to three horses. Their assembled squads milled several yards away, watching their newcomer with wide eyes. She wondered how many of them had fought during the war and how many lost people that they loved. Being a hired sword was a difficult life, so she doubted that most of them chose it out of their own volition.

“Glad you could join us,” Felix greeted.

Sylvain looked her over with a grin. “Missed seeing you in your full battle regalia.”

She nodded, getting on the horse gracelessly. She never liked riding on horses; she preferred running on her own two feet when the terrain and circumstances allowed it.

The last time they were in a similar position, everyone had been bloody and wounded and exhausted. Sylvain and Felix had the same armor, if not repaired. Sylvain had his Relic, Felix is Aegis shield and trusted sword.

“It’s been a while,” she agreed.

“The three of us could take down anything.”

“I suppose so. Let’s go, before someone gets an idea of what we are doing.”

“Seteth is going to freak out when he finds out.”

“I know," Byleth muttered.

“He’d descend with his wyvern and kill us both from 'kidnapping' you or something.”

“I wouldn’t allow it. Also, he wouldn’t do something like that to begin with.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see the way he looked at me when I kissed your hand. Your _hand_ , professor. He looked like he was going to rip off my arm and beat me with it. Felix can vouch.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Felix muttered with a smile.

“Aw, come on Felix. You know. I know. Everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Byleth asked.

She watched as the two exchanged another incredulous glance. They truly had grown. She was no longer privy to the details of their lives and what they saw in her.

“We’ll tell you later, Professor,” Sylvain said, winking.

Byleth put it out of her mind, tabling the interaction as a joke she simply wasn’t in on.

“He shows concern for me for the Church's sake,” she insisted, unsure of why she was defending Seteth while she was disobeying him. “We cannot allow for instability in this time. I understand his concerns, but this is too important.”

“Hm, just for the Church’s sake,” Sylvain agreed mockingly. “Of course.”

They started down the main road, diverging towards the southwest, as Felix had said.

Sylvain and Felix must have put a lot of money into this effort, as most of their men were on horseback, the rest on a cart trailing at the back. There was a healer and a small crate of vulneraries and all of the weapons were clean and sharp.

There was little room for conversation. Felix had his eyes forward, perhaps thinking about how many bandits he would be able to take down with his sword. Sylvain was similarly single-minded, but his eyes were drawn to the Relic in his hand.

Byleth was simply trying to make sure she didn’t vomit everywhere on the way to the hideout. Despite her best efforts, even turning healing magic on herself to relieve the discomfort, her illness still followed.

A wave crested, but she kept it in her mouth, wincing at the acrid taste that washed over her mouth. She turned her head and spat out the mouthful into the side of the road, hoping that nobody would notice or question it.

Dread settled cold in her now-empty stomach. That couldn’t happen during battle. She had to be perfect, now that she only had herself and two students to rely on, not the strength of a full army. They had their battalions, sure, but Byleth did not know how well-trained they were, how loyal they were to their leaders.

She didn’t want to be afraid. War didn’t allow for fear, even when the lives and freedom of millions were on the line.

Maybe Felix was right. She had become soft in the shaky peacetime. Her resolve had wavered. Maybe she was settling too far into her humanity, letting go of the stony stoicism that had sustained her for the first 21 years of her life. There was no going back, now that Sothis has sunk into every fiber of her being.

She wanted to be sick again. She sucked in a breath and tried to focus on how the horse's hooves pounded against the path and how the morning sunlight filtered through the trees.

“We're close. If what we've heard is right, and it is, we'll be able to get a vantage point on their hideout.”

The road looked ill-used, which was probably what the bandits wanted. They didn’t want the Knights to stumble across their hideout while on regular patrols. They didn’t pass by any travelling merchants or civilians, either. It was truly deserted.

The fact they hadn’t been waylaid was a mystery to her. perhaps these bandits were so proud that they didn’t think to patrol their own roads. Or maybe they knew that no quarry would dare wander into such a lonely area.

As if he could sense it, Felix urged them to stop. “It’s here. Proceed with caution. We don’t want to lose the element of surprise.”

“How can you tell?” Byleth asked.

“I've been keeping track of how long it’s been since we left the monastery. We should be right on top of them in a few minutes at this pace.”

They continued for what felt like half a mile before Felix stopped them again and dismounted his horse.

“Stay back here.”

One hand on the hilt of his sword, he disappeared into the trees. Sylvain looked like he was going to follow him for a moment, but instead he hung back, keeping count of the men who followed close behind.

“He seems to be taking this very seriously,” Byleth mused. They both were every inch the Alliance leaders she had relied on during the war.

Sylvain watched the underbrush, as if Felix would jump out at any moment. “While he doesn’t want to admit it, I know that his father’s memory drives him to snuff out these bandits for good.”

Byleth nodded. She knew all too well the burden of a dead father's memory. The war was over, and yet she still felt like Jeralt haunted her.

“At least, has not drowning his grief and stress with booze. Or women. That would be what I would do if I were in his position,” Sylvain said. “Instead, he’s being just as much a knight that he says he isn’t.”

While the thought of Felix in a knight’s armor flashed in her mind, she knew it was an impossibility.

“I’m proud of him. I’m proud of you all.”

“Aw, don’t get weepy on me, your Teacherliness. Save that for after the fight.”

She stared at him. “You expect me to have reason to cry?”

Sylvain grinned cockily as if he was never witness to the entire world collapsing to ashes. “I think you’ll be overcome by how amazing me and Felix are once we put these bandits down for good.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Minutes later, Felix stepped back into the clearing. Blood dripped down his sword, but he wasn’t out of breath at all.

“Alright, come with me,” he snapped.

Felix lead them to an outcropping overlooking a large clearing. The ground was slick with blood and a few feet away was the source.

“The watchmen?” Byleth asked.

Dark red gouges painted their torsos and pooled underneath them. There was no sign of struggle. Their own swords were still in their sheaths.

“Didn’t make a sound. I don’t think anyone knows we are here.”

“Hope not.”

Crouching low, they peeked over the ledge into the bandits’ hideout.

It looked like a small town: one big house in the center surrounded by smaller sheds and living quarters. Whoever these bandits were, they were very efficient, if they had enough money to build such a place.

“We should split up. It’s too big for us to all enter at one spot. We'll get overrun.”

She squinted. There was a courtyard within the main building. If they had pegasus riders, it would make infiltrating the building easier. They were stuck on foot.

“That didn’t stop us in at Myrddin, Fhirdiad, or Enbarr. Well get through, somehow,” she breathed.

Marching into near-certain death? No problem. They were too used to bad odds.

Sylvain glanced at Byleth. “Your Archbishop status didn’t bequeath you with some fantastic powers or anything?”

Byleth bristled a little. She didn’t tell anyone about Sothis or her ability to turn back time. All being appointed as Archbishop did was give her a shorter leash and a lot more responsibility.

“Sadly, no. Come on. Let’s tell your posse what the plan is.”

The three shuffled back through the trees and to their gathered forces. Sylvain took point, explaining the plan with confidence and simple instructions. It seemed it would be impossible for any of them to misunderstand them.

When Sylvain’s words died down, Felix stepped forward, dispassionate. “You know what to do. Kill every single bandit you see. No mercy.”

She kept her expression impassive as something like disappointment clutched her chest. A lot of time had been sunk into training Felix in the art of leading battalions. He had managed to pull his studies together through the course of the war, but it seemed that he didn’t keep up with honing the skill.

That seemed to sum it up, so it didn’t seem to be off-putting to them. Even then, eyes glanced towards her, waiting for her to give word as well.

Byleth cleared her throat, not moving from her spot. “They are thieves and murderers. I think Fódlan will be better off with this place as a pile of ash. Our weapons are strong and our aim will be true. The Goddess will watch over us.”

As if she had cast a spell, the dozens of men and women before her seemed to straighten, watching her with determination. Distantly, she remembered that the words came from a prayer to battle she had seen in one of the many ceremony books the monastery had.

She took the sword in her hand and sucked in a breath.

“Take out the guards at my word. Then, we strike.”

Splitting the company into two wasn’t difficult, though it seemed everyone wanted to be in the group headed by the Crest-users.

“Be careful in circling to the other side, in case they saw us earlier.”

The group, headed by one of the assassins and mages, broke off, scattering into underbrush.

She told herself over and over that it was the right thing to do. Having all of them bottlenecked at the one entrance had the potential for disaster, but she knew that the rest of their company would be safer if they were behind them.

A two-fronted attack made sense, especially when the enemy didn’t know they were coming. It didn’t even look like they were troubled that they were being pursued across Fódlan.

According to Felix, the same group had existed in some form for years, prior to the war. They were clearly used enduring temporary losses, losses that never dared encroach on their hideout.

“How much longer?” one of the archers hissed as she prepped her bow.

“Not much longer. We have to wait for everyone else to get in position,” Felix snapped back. “Don’t get us all killed because you’re impatient.”

Agonizing minutes passed before they were sure that the others were successfully on the other side of the compound. Her eyes swept over what lay just beyond the entrance. There were plenty of balconies where the bandits could shoot down at them while they advanced into the compound. Those would have to be destroyed first.

“Ready your arrows.”

The archers aimed for the guards at the entrance, a third lighting an arrow on fire as a signal to the group on the other side.

Seconds ticked by as finally the guards seemed to be distracted by one of their comrades making a joke behind them.

“Now!” Byleth hissed.

The arrows soared through the air, halfway to their targets before Byleth charged out of the underbrush with a shout. Felix was at her heels while Sylvain shot past them on horseback.

The snipers had crippled the two figures at the entrance and Sylvain picked them off with broad sweeps of his lance.

Shouts of alarm sounded as they poured into the compound. Those who milled around the grounds were the first to fall. They didn't stand a chance as Sylvain charged in with his lance and Felix and Byleth with their swords.

Felix seemed to be the most ruthless, outclassing even some of the more bloodthirsty mercenaries that they hired. Through his Crest, he struck once and again before the enemy could recover from the first blow, much less counterattack. The Aegis shield kept away wayward arrows and magic. He was a one-man army.

Byleth jerked in shock when a blast of magic impacted at her feet. She glanced up to the side of the main building. Archers and mages had taken station on the balconies, raining arrows and magic down on the enemy.

She gritted her teeth and swung her sword. The blade ripped through the stony balconies and through the bandits perched on them. Blood and stone rained down.

“That should keep them inside,” she mumbled.

They made quick work of the small buildings surrounding the house, suffering only minimal casualties in the process. It was clear that these bandits were used to fighting civilians and already-crippled militias. They were not ready to fight on their own land.

There would be more resistance when they stepped into the main house, where she had seen some of the bandits duck into. Fighting in such close quarters was risky, but they had no choice. She couldn’t wave her sword and collapse the building. Whatever intelligence and treasure hid in that building would be lost and her justification for ever leaving the monastery would be lost as well.

“Come on, we need to take the main building before they can regroup!” Byleth shouted.

The brawler guarding the nearest door fell to Sylvain's spear, blood pouring out of his chest.

“I’ll finish out here. You two, go.”

That was easier said than done, because it seemed like double the forces were inside the main building than there were outside.

Magic launched from behind them was enough to soften up the people who immediately faced them, but it was immediate mayhem the moment they stepped through the doors.

“Forward! Push forward!” Byleth shouted. “Don’t let them get behind us!”

She hissed when magic impacted on the wall next to her and the stench of burning plaster filled her nose. She launched a fireball from her fingertips, which hit one of the armored bandits and knocked him off of his feet.

“There has to be some stairs somewhere,” Felix muttered.

They had to be careful to not walk themselves into a corner. Every moment that passed of them wandering around only made the prospect only more likely.

Around every corner seemed to be a squad of bandits. Few were able to get around the wall that was Felix and Byleth, but those that did were only able to do so much before being subsequently cut down.

They had already lost three people by the time they reached courtyard. Byleth's eyes immediately went upward, where she could see the enemy scrambling on the upper floors.

These bandits, though they had been chased through the length of Fódlan, still had a lot of fight left in them.

“Up! Get out of their line of sight!”

Their company scattered as Byleth found a staircase.

She shouted with effort as the Sword of the Creator glowed with power. The blade whipped out and cut though the railings and into the men behind it. Arrows and magic impacted around, but the men below her gave her enough support to keep her from getting struck.

Farther up the stairs, she struck again. The air crackled with magic.

This time, it cut into one of the weight-bearing pillars at one of the corners of the huge area. It crumpled, taking out some of the ceiling with it. Chunks of brick and plaster rained from where the pillar had fallen, scattering dust into the air.

“Careful with that thing,” Felix barked.

Byleth could barely hear him over the roar in her ears, but she heeded his warning. It would do no good to crush them all under the brick roof.

“Take them!” she shouted. “Take them on the upper floors.”

Their men stormed up the stairs and into the hallways, cutting down the bandits that were just beyond the open area.

Byleth left them, allowing them to take down the rank and file bandits that littered the compound. There was little resistance in front of her. If anything, the bandits she faced often ran in the opposite direction, only to be felled by her sword. Once again, she was feared. It didn’t matter if she was a professor or a mercenary or Archbishop. Her reputation as a warrior and a killer preceded her.

She carved a path of blood as she searched the halls, only to stop in front of a hulking figure. The swordswoman glared at her from where she stood in the hallway, wielding a steel sword that rivaled most of the standard-issue blades Byleth had ever seen.

“There are many in Enbarr who would pay handsomely for your head. I would just relish in knock a noble like you down to size.”

Byleth brandished her sword, curling her lip. “You’re misinformed. Watch and learn.”

She launched forward and swung to get blocked by the other woman.

The swordswoman disengaged and knocked her back a step. Byleth stepped away as she swung, cleaving the air where she had stood moments earlier and slashing through the wooden floor.

It would be too easy to let her Crest and the Sword take over. It would be the smart thing to do: just kill the woman and move on. Every moment that passed gave her an opportunity to land a hit or for reinforcements to arrive.

They struck, disengaged, struck again. Byleth’s sword dipped just slightly and the swordswoman struck her across the face. Pain blossomed across her cheek and her left ear screeched.

“Sloppy,” she spat.

Byleth held up her sword to parry the next blow and she felt sudden panic.

_Do you remember the Red Canyon?_

Byleth gasped as the words without a speaker rang in her head. The swordswoman slashed at her, strong enough to lock with Byleth’s sword for a moment. The taller woman grinned down at her, as if victory was already won. Perhaps, just the act of defiance was victory on its own.

Byleth’s other hand dropped to the dagger at her belt and swung. It bit into the meat of her neck and her eyes widened in panic. Dark blood covered Byleth’s hand. The woman went limp and crashed to the ground, twitching and grunting as life left her.

Her Crest burned, parasitizing on the dying woman’s life force, bring a faster end. The power numbed her cheek before the throbbing pain subsided. She stepped over the body and continued forward.

It had been a long time since she had thought of that dream, the same night that Sothis had awoken inside her. The Red Canyon and its disjointed, lost memories.

She spat out another mouthful of bile. Battle was an easy distraction to the nausea; she was grateful for that.

There had to be an office or some kind of strategy room. The bandit leader clearly fancied himself a king, building his own palace and decorating with stolen artifacts and stripped gold.

It took a little searching, enough that the sounds of battle felt very far away. A door with a conspicuously heavy lock gave her a hint.

She kicked at it, hoping to break it down with her foot, but it wouldn’t budge. Her sword made short work of it and splintered the wood and warped the lock to a mass of melted metal.

Immediately, she knew she was in the right place.

The leader’s quarters were filled with antiques and jewelry. Painted icons and statues of the Saints littered the ground and covered the walls.

It was the room of someone who either relished in the number of his successes or fancied himself a pious man. More than likely, it was a bit of both. She could imagine Seteth’s disgust at it.

“A hypocrite,” she mumbled. For a moment, she had forgotten that she had lied to him. He wouldn’t take kindly to her bragging about the find she made.

Whoever was occupying left it in a hurry. Candles still glowed from the place on the desk and the little makeshift shrines. Curiously, the huge desk in the middle of the room lacked that decoration, instead covered in strewn papers and spilled ink. It looked like it was stolen from the home of a noble, all shiny red wood.

She bared her teeth as her vision became overly bright and the candlelight brightened into stars.

“No,” she hissed.

It was all too familiar. If this happened during the war, she would’ve panicked and retreated to a healer, suspecting poison, but she had become too used to this feeling. The battle was nearly ending. The screams and clashing of weapons were slowly dimming. An otherwise empty room, the violence far behind her, had her slipping further into her strange vision.

Why now?

She stepped forward, blinking away the black spots that danced in her vision. Unnatural silence closed over her ears, blocking all sound.

All sound, except for the tiny, soft coo coming from the wooden desk.

The desk, its top once cleared of anything of consequence, had a lone object sat there: a large, oval basket. All logic had flown out of her mind, how the basket hadn’t existed moments earlier.

Byleth stepped forward almost unbidden. A woven basket, filled with colorful knitted blankets. And, underneath those blankets, a small, round face stared back at her.

An infant? What was an infant doing here? How did she miss this when she first entered the room? Was she so distracted by the stolen finery?

Hand shaking, she hooked a figure around the edge of the blanket and pulled it down just enough to get a better look at the baby.

It looked up at her with sparkling green eyes and babbled nonsense as Byleth stared. Bright green eyes, but its hair was covered by a knit bonnet.

“Are you the bandit's child?” she wondered aloud, as if the baby would be able to answer her.

Instead, the answer came from inside her head: a voice that wasn't hers but wasn’t quite Sothis' either.

 _You must protect her. She is the future._ Your _future._

“What are you talking about?” Byleth breathed, unsure why she would try speaking to someone who wasn’t there. Sothis was gone. She was alone in her power and a millennium-long legacy.

All of this nonsense. The abandoned bandit-child meant nothing to her. Mercedes would find a home for her in her orphanage. There was no child in her future. She was Archbishop, so far removed that not even her closest advisor would dare drift too close to her.

Her future was Fódlan, not this nameless baby.

_Look at her! Centuries of suffering have followed you. You will be the legacy. You, and her._

The voice boomed, as if someone yelled right in her ear. “I still don't get it. Who is she to me?”

_The time for revelation approaches, but not today. Take care, that you live to see it. It would be a pity that a thousand years would be for nothing._

Her eyes snapped to the far corner as a sharp sound cut through the haze and her hand shook where it clutched her sword. She remembered where she was. the sounds of battle slowly drifted back into her attention.

“I—,” Byleth mumbled. She shook her head, blinking back the stinging feeling in her eyes. Her chest felt heavy.

She glanced back to the desk. The basket was gone, leaving nothing but a few scraps of paper and dim candles in its place.

The past two months felt like an endless puzzle. There was her illness and then there were the strange feelings, things that weren’t real but came to life before her eyes. Sometimes when she fished in the pond, she would see reflections that weren’t her own and shadows belonging to no one in the greenhouse.

She always wrote it off as exhaustion, but now she couldn’t be too sure. Something was wrong. This new voice danced in her head and brought visions. There were no other gods in Fódlan that she knew about, though she recalled overhearing Mercedes and Dedue talking about Duscuri gods.

No, this was something different. It wasn’t as simple as sharing her form with another. She just…couldn’t figure out what it was.

The rustling noise sounded again, from a closet in the back corner. There was definitely something there. It wasn’t another hallucination.

Before getting closer, she smothered some of the nearby candles, keeping her shadow away from the crack in the door. Sword in hand, she flung open the closet door and found herself face to face with a loaded crossbow.

The wielder looked at her and she looked at him and watched as fear and rage replaced the surprise on his face.

He was going to shoot her and that arrow was going to pierce her chest and kill her.

As soon as the thought passed through her mind, the world slowed. Unbidden, as reflexive as pulling one's hand away from a burning fire.

It wasn’t the same as the first time Sothis had shown her divine power. Instead of the feeling of being yanked backwards, aware of past, present, and a now-erased future, everything slowed, except her mind. Her limbs, too, only not as slow as how the leader's fingers moved on the crossbow trigger.

Hardened determination and premature celebration twisted the man's face as Byleth’s eyes widened in shock.

She moved, instinct pulling at her as his finger pressed on the trigger. The arrow released with a click and pierced the air, slowly, too slowly.

Byleth found herself out of its path before the sensation abated. The arrow shot through the air to hit the wall, ineffective.

Now, Byleth moved. The Sword of the Creator glowed in her hands as she lifted it, catching the crossbow and shattering it into shards of wood. The sword came down, biting through flesh with a wet sound.

The bandit leader gave one pathetic shout and gurgle as his blood painted the inside of the closet and sprayed across Byleth’s front. Though obscured by blood and rumpled cloth, she recognized him from the rough sketch Felix had shown her on the way to the compound.

She gasped for air, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. That wasn’t Sothis, was it? The sleeping Goddess didn’t teach her anything new since merging with her. Yet another secret to add to the growing list. More questions she would never get answers to.

She sighed, stumbling away from the bleeding and twitching corpse. That was nothing she hadn’t seen before. The times for flinching away from her kills had long passed

“Professor?”

She whipped around to see Sylvain stepping into the room with Felix close behind.

“You wandered off,” Felix grumbled.

She forced herself to relax and leaned her sword against the desk. At least, they weren’t around to see her moment of weakness and lack of judgment. She fumbled around enemy territory, glassy-eyed and seeing ghosts, as well as almost getting killed by a crossbow.

“Not going to lie, Professor, but you look like a demon.”

Her eyes snapped to Sylvain’s in confusion.

“How so?”

Sylvain grinned as he stuck his Relic into the wooden floor, relieving his shoulder of its weight.

“According to Felix, you used the Sword of the Creator like in the stories of old. I don't think I’ve ever seen you fight this hard, not even during the war.”

“Nearly took the damn building out with us in it,” Felix added.

“And you’re _also_ covered in blood.”

“I’m keeping you two safe,” she snapped, “What else am I supposed to look like?”

Blood had splattered across her chestplate, soaked into her sleeves, and speckled her cheeks, but none of it was hers. She looked like a mess. Neither man looked much better. She shook her head. The battle was over. She didn’t need to argue about her appearance with her former students. They needed to finish what they had started and get home before something else could go wrong.

“Enough about that. Have we routed the enemy?”

“Yes,” Sylvain said with a nod. “We suffered some losses. The bandits we’ll bury. Ours, we’ll...I guess we’ll bury, too.”

The thought of mass graves made her feel ill. It was something meant for wartime, for the chaplains that followed the armies to give final prayers to the dead before they were covered in dirt. Logistics meant that they had to bury the bandits. It would be wrong to leave their bodies to rot. As for their own company, it didn’t feel proper to give them the same treatment.

“Take them to the monastery to be buried,” Byleth said. “Cover them and put them on the wagon. We’ll take whatever stolen goods as well. Either we will return it to their rightful owners or put it into the Church fund towards reconstruction.”

Byleth turned her attention to the desk and rifled through the drawers, pulling out neatly-bound ledgers.

“Well, look at that. At least, he made things easy for us.”

It left her with no regrets in killing him. There was no need for interrogation if he had written down everything.

“Pluto’s Hand,” she murmured, tracing a finger where the words were punched into the leather cover.

Sylvain drawled as he regarded one of the “That’s what they call themselves. Not sure what it means, but I’m sure it’s got something to do with stealing.”

The leader had been meticulous about documenting what his underlings did. Each raid and robbery had the date and location and the things stolen were listed. Even some of them had the specific families that they stole from.

She set that one aside, figuring that this would be more useful later when repatriating the stolen goods to their rightful homes.

One of the drawers had a lock, which she easily broke open. The book set there didn’t have any words on the cover, but it was full of pages that the binding strained. She grunted as she slammed the book onto the table and began rifling through the pages.

“Let’s see,” she mumbled.

The first thing that caught her attention was a series of letters.

All of them seemed to be connected to various Imperial generals and cities. It was clear that the Empire had ordered the bandits to ransack towns in Adrestian territory, but from what the letters stated, those towns were targeted because of perceived lack of loyalty to Enbarr. They had been particularly ruthless, even dressing in Alliance or Kingdom garb to scapegoat the enemy.

Her hand hesitated as familiar names began to crop up, the dates coinciding with the months during the war that the Kingdom army had taken residence in monastery.

It was nondescript, almost an afterthought, but they were plans and communiques between the bandit leader and an Adrestian spy who had infiltrated the monastery for months before finally getting caught. He had been summarily hanged for his crime. Any mention of the spy in the ledger ended the day after he drew his last breath.

“I guess these people had greater ties to the Empire.”

Sylvain looked around pointedly, taking in all the iconography. “So, what? He was going to recreate the Church after Edelgard tore it down with all this?”

Byleth wanted to spit on the corpse at the thought of it. “Maybe he fancied himself a god. Who knows?”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s a wannabe god. He’s dead, as are his worshippers,” Felix grumbled.

“That we know of,” Sylvain quipped.

Felix fixed him with an icy glare. “They’re all dead. It took over six years but now they are all dead. The work is done.”

His throat bobbed as what he was clearly thinking choked before they could turn into words. Byleth wasn’t sure if it was to wax poetic about Rodrigue or Glenn, but she knew that those words would never pass Felix's lips.

Instead, Felix turned to the still-cooling body that slumped in the open closet.

“I’m going to take him outside with the rest of them. At least, it will show our men the results of our work.”

His lip curled as he kicked away the pieces of crossbow that still littered the ground.

“A crossbow to a swordfight, huh? This piece of garbage deserved to die,” he mumbled.

He kicked aside the dead man's limp legs, reaching around to grab him from the back of his collar. Pulled into the light, the bandit leader was dressed in practical clothing, belying in the extravagance that he surrounded himself with. The tough leather had shredded easily under Byleth's blade and was soaked in blood.

“Like a sack of laundry,” Sylvain said.

Felix mumbled something unintelligible as he dragged him across the room. Red trailed behind them and stained the floor.

For a moment, he stumbled with a grunt, as if favoring one leg.

Sylvain was on him before Byleth could say anything, crossing the room with a speed that lacked any of the smooth grace from the battlefield.

“Do you need to see a healer?”

Byleth looked Felix over, ready to assist if Felix said so. There was no obvious sign of blood or magic. Maybe he had rolled his ankle during the battle.

His grip didn’t falter, but...did he lean just slightly into Sylvain’s touch? Felix shrugged him off immediately, the moment passing faster than it came. “No. Just a little bruised. nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Sylvain. Now, let me go so I can clean up this mess.”

Sylvain let him go and stepped away. Felix dragged the corpse by the collar and blood trailed behind it.

There was need for a large burial plot. It was good that they could top it off with the leader, no loose ends in sight.

“Yell if you need anything,” Felix said as he paused in the doorway. “Please, don’t need anything.”

Byleth turned back to the book as Sylvain blew out a sigh. She wasn’t going to comment on the situation. Not yet, at least.

She flipped to the earlier-dated letters and notes. While it seemed most recorded activity happened once the resistance started to solidify, there was still records of Alliance and Kingdom movements, documenting the discord. Since the base was so close to the monastery, there seemed to be care in tracking any movements in the area since the Battle of Garreg Mach.

One such page had her pause. It dated just before Byleth had awoken and returned to the monastery.

_The Church has been stifled, but it seems there is some movement in Garreg Mach. The green-haired heretics, most likely._

_It would be easier on Enbarr if they are killed, but nobody dares get too close now that they have returned. Cowards, but I’ll yield until necessity requires it._

_I would relish in knocking the elder’s head from his shoulders or felling him from his wyvern. The younger is an easy kill, once you get around the magic._

She flipped to the next page, the paper nearly tearing from her grip. The surge of protectiveness almost overcame her, as well as the sudden urge to stab that dead body one more time before it went into the ground.

“They were pragmatic, didn’t fully devote themselves to the Empire’s cause.”

Sylvain scanned the pages over her shoulder. “Regime changes cause the underground to flourish, as well as crime in general. I’m glad we could put them down when we could, before they could get too embedded into Fódlan.”

“They would’ve made continued reconstruction difficult.”

Dissident lords already took up enough time as it was. Most of them bent the knee to Dimitri at his coronation, but others still missed the protection and free rein that the Adrestian Empire offered.

It was going to be a long time to either woo them into the fold or force them to submit. Crime would happen no matter what, but to stamp out a major contributor was a victory, especially one that had even a thought of hurting Seteth and Flayn.

The thought of it made her blood boil. How many times did she dream of them dying; how many times did she watch them die? Sothis’ power saved them every time, but their cries of pain and their rattling last breaths haunted her. Worse, their cries to each other when the other was dealt a fatal blow.

It was yet another thing that she hoped she would never have to experience again. Flayn was far away in her duties, but Byleth knew that the healer would be well-protected as well as well-abled to protect herself. Having Claude with his Relic and charismatic hold over the Almyran nobles definitely was a help.

“Have you ever been in love?” Sylvain asked suddenly.

The question shouldn’t have affected her so viscerally, especially with the thoughts that had preceded it. Sylvain easily caught it, but hesitated to capitalize on it.

“No. I don’t think I have,” Byleth replied, evenly. “Why?”

Sylvain hummed, glancing back to one of the mosaics. The candlelight reflected almost blindingly bright off of the shiny stones. He clearly wasn’t surprised by the answer she gave, but she didn't know why he would ask in the first place.

“What brought this on?” she asked against her better judgment. “I don’t recall you ever caring about my love life, as it were, when we were back in the monastery.”

“I suppose there was no time for it. I didn’t see you really care about someone in that way. Well, maybe, but I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to notice,” he sniffed.

She wasn’t sure what he meant. She had been thoroughly steeped in the stressed of teaching and war, and yet...

“And you? Have you ever been in love?” Byleth asked. She was suddenly antsy to get the spotlight off of her and onto something else, anything else.

He shook his head. “Dunno. You know me. I’ve been chasing skirts for years, but never really cared.”

Silence reigned for a moment as Byleth watched him think, unwilling to interrupt the thoughts that were clearly haunting him.

Finally, the man shook his head again, grinning. “Felix hums Annette’s little songs when he thinks nobody is listening. His secretary is ordered to immediately give him any letters from her. That seems like love to me.”

“Jealous?” Byleth asked.

The cocky smile wavered. “Huh?”

“Are you jealous, of Annette or Felix?”

Byleth was no fool. She knew that, as Sylvain had shed himself of his philandering ways during the heyday of war, he came to connect with his fellow students with a fierce protectiveness that would almost rival her own. She remembered how he howled at Felix for his reckless actions on the battlefield, especially when the swordsman had gotten injured. He also threw himself in front of Annette when she found herself in a vulnerable position and defended her with his Lance of Ruin.

He cared and cared too much sometimes for his own good. He killed his own brother in defense of his classmates and accepted the nightmares and guilt that came with the act.

“I’m not the jealous type. You should know that, Professor,” Sylvain said.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Sylvain shrugged with a bright, false smile. It was painful to watch as the careful veneer came down over Sylvain’s features. After months and years of trying to peel back the layers of machismo that hid his guilt and trauma, it seemed like they were right back to where they started when Byleth started at the Officer’s Academy.

“Wanna make sure my friends are happy in this life. It’s all what really matters.”

“And your happiness, Sylvain?” Byleth pressed.

Her words could be pointed, nearly callous on occasions. People loved to talk around what they really felt, covering up with pretense and false emotions. Byleth did her best to cut through to the truth, no matter how ugly and painful it could be. She knew it was something that was off-putting. Innumerable bridges could have burned because of her words, but somehow people stuck around, even taking her pragmatic advice, allowing her to pry, without question.

Not this time, not from Sylvain. The time for counsel as professor was over, as she overstepped and prodded at a wound that he didn't want to acknowledge. The fake happiness that painted his face turned sharp in an instant.

“I could say the same about you, Professor. You haven’t strayed from the monastery, from what I’ve heard, since Fhirdiad. You’ve chained yourself to your desk. And you’ve had this will-they, won’t-they thing with Seteth since before the war even started. So, I don’t want to hear it from you.”

Byleth immediately felt woozy again and leaned heavily against the desk. If he expressed any guilt over his cutting words, she missed it.

Was it that obvious? Was she so transparent in her lingering desires or was Sylvain just conjecturing and managed to hit her where she was most sensitive? She didn't know and she didn't want to find out.

To have her unhappiness and her conflict aired out for all of Fódlan to see would only cause problems.

“I suppose you are right. We are all hypocrites, in our own way.”

She pushed away from the desk and stacked the books in one arm. The knowledge that Seteth was going to be livid with her the moment she returned turned her stomach to ice.

“Professor, I—,” Sylvain started, only to pause when Byleth lifted a hand.

“That’s enough. I’m not your professor anymore. Your destiny is yours, as are your mistakes. I will not interfere.”

She couldn’t rid him of his self-loathing any more than she could rid herself of her hallucinations. If he wanted to damn himself to being unhappy, that was his choice, no matter how much she wanted to fix it.

“We have much to do,” she sighed. “It is time to return to my post, before rumors abound that I have abandoned the monastery for good.”

That seemed to shut him up. Maybe it was the reminder that they all had bigger roles to play than swords and lances in a war. The Margraviate tried to broker peace with Sreng as both sides relentlessly attacked each other at the border. While he could lean on his father for some help, Byleth knew that his burden, the Crest of Gautier, would put more pressure on him to succeed, no matter what.

And then, there would be the pressure to wed: to Crest-bearer or someone more than willing to birth Crest-bearing children. Sylvain would probably make it so he would never leave battle in order to avoid such a thing.

* * *

The victorious march back to the monastery came to a halt when they could hear the thunder of horses heading towards them. From the sound of it, there were enough people to match their numbers.

“Reinforcements?” Sylvain asked. “Did the bandits have another hideout that we missed?”

“Arm yourselves!” Felix snapped, already pulling his sword from its sheath.

They waited in the middle of the road, prepared to meet the enemy.

Finally, the shine of armor and the Church standard appeared at the bend in the road.

Not bandits, but...

“The Knights of Seiros. Stand down!” Byleth snapped. “They are not our enemy.”

The captain leading the charge clearly noticed who was leading the party and reined his horse, forcing the others behind him to slow as well.

“My Lady!”

Byleth sighed and urged her now-skittish horse forward. She vaguely recognized the captain under his helmet, but his name escaped her. “Captain. What brings you so far from the monastery to these parts?” she asked.

Somehow, the man managed to straighten his back in respect while riding a horse. “Seteth ordered us to find you.”

Even before he opened his mouth, she knew the answer. Of course, Seteth had sent them to find her. He was probably panicking once he discovered she wasn’t on the monastery grounds.

“How did you know where to find us?” Sylvain asked. He still brandished his lance, unwilling to put it away just yet.

“We didn’t, my lord. We followed tracks and with some guesswork we found you.”

“I see. Well, the threat has passed. I shall return to Garreg Mach. I apologize for wasting your time and resources on looking for me

“Not at all, my Lady. We are here to serve the Church. We would give our lives to protect you.”

Her mouth twisted before she could properly school her expression. She thought about how Rodrigue had thrown himself in front of the blade meant for Dimitri. She hadn’t been fast enough to save him, only fast enough to kill the would-be assassin. Dimitri was wracked with guilt. She didn’t know truly what it was like for someone to die for her. She wasn’t excited to experience it.

“We would be honored to escort you, my Lady.”

She paused before finally nodding. There was really no going around it. The knights were going to stay, whether she liked it or not.

“Please, first help the Duke and Margrave's men who are on foot and help them get to the monastery. We lost some horses in the fight and the cart carries the dead and reclaimed goods.”

The captain’s mouth gaped like a fish before ushering his men forward.

“As you wish, my Lady. Please, allow us pause to get organized. We shouldn’t be long.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

As the knights assisted the men, she couldn’t help but feel oddly torn between two worlds. The knights were at her beck and call, but still answered to Seteth. Felix and Sylvain had willingly given over command to her, which she wielded as easy as breathing. They shared power, in a way, that felt different to what she and Seteth had. It was unsettling.

She also tried not to think about how she was delaying their travel, if only to avoid facing Seteth for a few more minutes.

“We are ready, my Lady.”

She nodded shortly, swallowing back a feeling of dread. “Come on. To Garreg Mach.”

The trip back was too slow for Sylvain’s tastes, who shot forward ahead the rest of the group. Felix hung back, watching the cart.

That left Byleth and the captain, who didn’t look particularly eager to speak to her.

She wondered how angry Seteth had been when he ordered him to take the patrol and find her. He must have been furious. At her, for leaving. At the guards, for not seeing her leave. At the captain, for not moving fast enough.

He clearly didn’t have the courage to speak his mind. Seteth, some of the more senior priests and nuns, and some of the Knights would speak to her openly, whether it be in affairs of the Church or of Fódlan’s security.

“What's your name, Captain?”

“Cedric Everdon, my Lady. From east of Fhirdiad.”

“Captain Everdon,” she repeated and nodded. “Thank you, for coming to my aid.”

“It is nothing, Archbishop. I think Adviser Seteth would have flown here by himself if the other Knights urged him not to.”

She tightened her grip on the reins and forced herself to sound nonchalant. “Oh, really?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this, except for maybe when Miss Flayn went missing all those year ago.”

Her face immediately heated up in shame. If this was his attempt at chastising her for her actions, he succeeded. She couldn’t bring herself to continue the conversation, even as the monastery came into view. It still had the same majesty from the first time she ever saw it, though the times had changed so drastically. This time, she knew she was going to face some sort of judgment.

Knights converged on the wagon as soon as they passed the monastery gates, taking the dead to the embalmers and sorting the treasure to either be absorbed into the Church coffers or returned to their rightful owners.

She left them alone, walking into the Gathering Hall.

Immediately, she found Seteth, who waited just beyond the wooden doors for her.

Seteth, brow set, watched her with his arms crossed over his chest as she approached. She didn't try to offer a smile. His stance only seemed to stiffen more as he took her in: the blood-soaked sword and clothes, her hair ruffled.

She told him over and over how she didn’t want to return to war, that she was exhausted from the fighting. Now, she hobbled back to the monastery in the aftermath of battle. Every part of her spoke to her hypocrisy.

The rumors would abound on why the Archbishop had left the monastery to return like the war had never truly ended.

She approached, refusing to hunch her shoulders in shame. “Seteth.”

“I see my advice went unheeded,” he said as a greeting. “You went, even though I advised you stay in the monastery.”

“I did.” There was no denying it. There was no lying to him. She could only weather the fallout.

Seteth blocked her way, uncaring of the people who could see their confrontation. “I cannot begin to tell you how foolish that was.”

She bristled. “It is in defense of Fódlan and of my students. Those bandits were a menace for too long. It seems that they were in issue before I was even born.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy him; he still glared at her.

“We have information of this gang of bandits assisting the Empire's spies during the war," she spat. "They are also assisting Imperial sympathizers, even now. They could have been missed if I hadn’t been there.”

Seteth arched a brow in disbelief. “Or your students would have been smart enough to look through any papers before burning the hideout. You underestimate your students.”

“And you underestimate my strength. I have not a scratch on me.”

“And if you did? Or if you were suddenly plagued by a curse or poisoned? What then?” Seteth pressed.

“Fódlan existed before me; it would exist after me. Rhea could come out of retirement or you could assume the role as Archbishop.”

He shook his head. She could see the tightness of his jaw as he mulled over her words. “No. You are the Goddess’s chosen.”

That rankled her more than it should have. Rhea did tell him something and he knew more about her than what she knew about herself. Did Rhea make him privy to knowledge of Byleth’s existence, unwilling to tell Byleth herself?

“As you say,” she said bitterly. “But you could lead the Church better than I ever could.”

At least, he wasn’t plagued by illness and madness. She could be his effective, sickly sword and shield.

She watched as his spine straightened and he eyed those who dared to pause and listen to their conversation. “Are you trying to resign, my Lady?” Seteth asked.

The words lanced through her. To hear it aloud, something she had entertained only for mere moments in the long months, was unsettling.

“No. I’m just saying.”

She couldn't help but sound slightly defensive. This whole thing felts like an overreaction, despite knowing how foolish her actions were. She would never leave her post to return to her old life of mercenary work. That opportunity had come and gone, before her official appointment as Archbishop.

“Do you wish to take this to my office, so we are not airing Church business for all the world to hear?” Byleth asked with a false levity.

He did not take the bait, the sternness and anger lingering. “No. I believe there is little else for me to say. Anything else would likely fall on deaf ears anyway.”

She refused to wince at the barb. “I apologize for making you worry. I assure you that it will not happen again.”

“Even if the Princess of Brigid or Lord Gaspard came to the monastery gates asking for military aid?”

Even as her mind thought to how she would jump at the opportunity to assist, she remembered the hallucinations that followed her even into battle. Something told her that they would only become worse and more burdensome.

“Well, I would hope that by the time that such a day comes, we will have enough forces to lend them so I would have no need to go myself,” she replied primly.

Seteth shook his head almost violently, brow tight. “This is foolishness. I—"

The way his tone got just a touch louder had her temper overboiling. She wasn’t going to do this in front of all of creation, not when there were people being buried in the grounds just outside the monastery grounds.

She smiled tightly, but her eyes were like flames. “Come with me, if you see fit to lecture me. Goddess knows how unbecoming it is for you to lecture me for all the monastery to see.”

Seteth nodded shortly. The lines in his face relaxed just slightly as if to convey to their unwilling audience that he was being cooperative.

“After you, my Lady.”

There was no derision in the title, but she could easily imagine it.

She started down a familiar path and wondered if hearing Seteth's footsteps behind her brought her comfort or anger. His anger was understandable, but once he saw the ledgers and the amount of Church artifacts they recovered, he would understand.

She kept telling herself that until she was sure that it was true.

The sword felt like an unbearable weight. Blood had dried by the time she had reached the monastery, but it still felt like she left a bloody trail as she led Seteth through the halls.

She also felt everyone’s eyes on her. All eyes seemed to be on her, always. The hushed gossip would be for her and her alone. The Archbishop, stealing away with two of her former students to gallivant and do Seiros-knew what? Seteth had done his best to stifle any gossip from escaping the monastery. Scandals were meant for palaces and dukedoms, not fit for Garreg Mach.

Rumors would abound after this, too. The two of them, ducking into her office after a heated argument? It would only be signs of a power struggle, despite no such thing existing.

Byleth immediately lit the fireplace when they stepped into her office.

She rested the Sword of the Creator against the wall, murmuring something about cleaning it later. Fixing it after a battle was always a hassle. There were too many curves and nooks for blood and gore to hide in and rot if she wasn’t mindful of it.

That would come later. She felt weighed down, both by Seteth’s gaze and the armor that covered her body.

“Is there anything more you wish to say to me?” she asked. “Now that nobody is listening?” Exhaustion leaked into her words, unbidden.

“How many men were there?”

She counted it as a victory that he didn't immediately start yelling at her. “We counted over forty. I wasn’t really keeping track. These things sort of blur together, you know? You’re better off asking Felix or Sylvain.”

“That is alright. It was just a curiosity.”

Byleth hummed. Suddenly, she found the wood panels underneath her feet to be very interesting. The fight had exhaled from her in the walk to her quarters, but she was ready to argue was soon as Seteth started.

Seteth cleared his throat. “Are you sure you are uninjured?”

The concern sounded very familiar. For moment, he sounded like Sylvain, asking after Felix's condition. Not quite the same, surely.

“I’m sure.” She omitted the blow to the face that had been repaired by her Crest. He didn’t need to know that particular aspect of the battle.

He looked at her and she could see thoughts churning behind his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was going to press the issue. Instead, he cleared his throat again and looked at the space just above her shoulder.

“Your armor.”

She glanced down at herself. “My armor?”

Seteth cleared his threat again. “Allow me to help you remove it. Really, you should have an attendant to help you which such things, for someone of your position.”

She glanced down at the breastplate and armor pieces strapped to her arms and legs. He did have a point; getting these things on and off was always a pain.

“I do not require an attendant to assist me on a day-to-day basis but, for this one time. As long as you don’t pat me down like I’m hiding something from you.”

Seteth seemed to accept those terms and reached for the fastening at her right shoulder. He kept a respectful distance, but he still stepped in her space as his fingers worked over the straps.

She undid the fastenings at her sides, careful to not accidentally bump into him. The whole breastplate split into its two halves as Seteth undid the other shoulder. He caught the back plate as it peeled away and she caught the front. Both pieces were set on the ground to be cleaned later.

Byleth rolled her shoulders with a sigh. The weight had borne down on her body and brought more pain than what she would have liked.

She wandered to her desk chair and sat heavily. She yanked off her gauntlets before he had the chance to offer. After one particularly difficult battle during the war, Seteth had helped her take off one of her gauntlets. She had gotten hit by a mage, her shield not completely blocking the blow. It would be too familiar for him to do the same now, too much like old times. It would also bring his face too close to hers.

Seteth rounded the desk to stand in front of her. He watched her as he dropped to kneel in front of her.

“Allow me.”

He reached for her right shin, indicating that he wanted to remove her greave.

Something in the back of her head said that what he was doing wasn’t exactly _becoming_ of someone of his status. She was speechless, her face suddenly burning.

His fingers brushed the crook of her knee as undid one of the straps and she kicked out a little, squirming in her chair.

“Ticklish,” she mumbled.

Remembering herself, she unstrapped the metal on her thighs. Her fingers fumbled over the straps and she prayed that Seteth wouldn’t notice.

“I always meant to ask you, but you wear a guard for your knee at all times. May I ask why?”

She glanced down and swung her leg lightly.

“The memory is a bit foggy. I think a lance went through it and I took too much time to get to a healer. By then, the damage was permanent. Doing mercenary work, I needed to protect that vulnerability while it was still healing.”

“It became a habit, I assume.”

She hummed in agreement, falling to silence again. It was clear that he was taking his time, probably to make absolutely sure that she wasn’t hiding anything.

He removed the first greave and set it on the ground next to him. He moved to the next, working more slowly than before. Byleth watched the top of his head and the way his forehead wrinkled in concentration. It felt very intimate, though he was playing the role of attendant. She had been knee-deep in bodies mere hours earlier, hallucinating voices and a child in a basket, and this was too _quiet_.

She shifted again, struggling to think of something to say. “The bandit leader wished you dead, you know? I read one of the letters from when Garreg Mach was abandoned.”

He paused where he undid the second greave, his hand making the barest point of contact with her skin.

“Indeed?”

“He talked about killing you and Flayn after you had returned to the monastery. They were too afraid of you to go through with it.”

“A great many people have wanted me dead over the years. Some have tried to kill me themselves. I still stand.”

The nonchalance bothered her more than it should have. “I killed the leader. At first, I thought it was a mistake, because we couldn’t get any information from him. After reading the letter, I’m glad I did. Someone like that shouldn’t live, especially not so close to the monastery.”

Byleth felt like a cat leaving a dead bird at its master’s doorstep, expecting gratitude for her efforts. She didn’t do all of this for Seteth, and yet, she wanted him to at least acknowledge that what she had done was for the good of Fódlan.

“I appreciate your efforts. You have done Fódlan a service in destroying their hideout. However, don’t think I’m not still angry with you, because I am.”

His tone was softer than it was in the Entrance Hall and he was gentle as he removed the greave and set it with its pair.

She glanced away, grumbling, “Could have fooled me.”

“No. What you did was foolish and you could have gotten yourself killed.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “You also broke the trust I had with you. As your advisor, I hoped to impart on you the wisdom that has come over the years of working under Rhea.”

“You truly expect me to heed your word, without question?” she asked. “Even if my instincts tell me different?”

“I wish that you would heed my advice. I don’t give it lightly.”

Rhea hadn’t been too keen to listening to him when he objected to her professorship at the monastery. The previous Archbishop didn’t need to adhere to his words as doctrine; the current one shouldn’t need to either. She kept that point to herself.

“I understand, but I will not apologize for my actions. I did what I thought was right.”

“What is right is not always smart. We cannot afford a loss at such a delicate time. We cannot afford to do right all the time.”

Byleth frowned, disconcerted by Seteth’s words. He had spoken of virtue and leadership and good example mere months ago. What had happened to change that? “We should be doing the right thing whenever possible. We should be protecting those who cannot protect themselves. Is that not our purpose here?”

“You could have stumbled, made a miscalculation. Then, we would be without a leader.”

It was the same mistrust that poisoned their early interactions. Back then, he thought her unskilled and untrustworthy. She had earned it, over and over again, in blood and sweat and sacrifice. They were back in such a similar place, only different time, different setting. She had done everything, and earned nothing.

Something ugly raised its head. Back then, she didn’t care what he thought and didn’t try to argue her worth to him or throw his hypocrisy back in his face. Now, she couldn’t help the anger and resentment. She killed people for Fódlan, for him, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

“You were more than willing to use me as a weapon for the Church before I was appointed,” she said, each word sharp and matter-of-fact. “I have plenty of scars from you sending me into harm’s way. At least, now I get to decide when and where I could get injured.”

He recoiled as if she had struck him, expression suddenly very vulnerable. The momentary satisfaction of speaking her mind immediately evaporated. She was tired of the visions and nightmares and feeling alone.

Why? Why was this happening?

She opened her mouth, struggling to find a way to soften her words, before his gaze hardened and closed off to her.

“Very well. I will take my leave, my Lady.”

The moment was over. Whatever softness was there disappeared in the echoes of angry words.

He pulled away, leaving her feeling oddly bereft, and stood to loom over her like one of the statues in the cathedral.

“I see you are tired. We will forgo our evening meeting today.”

She looked up at him, lips in a thin line. She couldn’t even thank him for assisting her with her armor. His offer was more than likely an attempt to get her to capitulate to him and admit her perceived wrongs. She remembered the bite of her sword into the bandit leader's chest and the conspiracy scrawled into his book. She couldn't waver.

Her gaze trained to the wooden grain of her desk in a silent dismissal.

“Very well.”

He gave her one last lingering gaze, expression inscrutable, before shutting the door behind him.

Jeralt would always say something about not being able to unring a bell when teaching Byleth to make deals who those who would hire them for mercenary work. It was a balance between being polite and being genuine. She knew she couldn’t take back her words, but she also felt very unapologetic. He was the one to put her in this position. She had nothing to apologize for.

Brow tight, she fetched the Sword of the Creator and started cleaning the blood and gore off of it. The blood that had soaked into her clothes had dried, making movement uncomfortable, but it was easily ignored.

She just wished everything else was as easy to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dabs sweat off of brow*  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


	8. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who kudos and commented on the last chapter! This one is not nearly as long, but it is hopefully packed full of drama and romance and stuff :3c
> 
> Enjoy!

It took over a week for Seteth to forgive her. They still had their meetings, but they were curt and polite, lacking the familiar warmth that she was used to.

They needled each other in the most passive aggressive ways. Any missives regarding militias were diverted from her desk for several days, as if a punishment for sticking her nose into someone else’s fight. She couldn’t even be that upset about it, since she made for certain that the already sure-to-fail trade agreement between Fódlan and Brigid landed on her desk and not his. It demanded for her blessing and to be returned to the negotiating parties and she decided, albeit pettily, that he didn't need to be made aware of it.

Ashe definitely had a hand in some of the draft, but most of his ideas were buried by bureaucracy and unfair demands from more pushy lords.

It didn’t take an expert to figure that this was going to be solved for a long time. During one of their more clipped meetings, she mentioned the agreement and he made the same observation.

The first sign that Seteth had forgiven her was the charcuterie plate seated at his desk during one of their nightly meetings. Byleth thanked him and immediately dug into the fresh grapes and slices of cheese. For the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled at her. The next time he met with her at her office, she had tea brewed and some delicate sandwiches.

Alerts of militia activity returned to her inbox and a copy of a revised Fódlan-Brigid agreement landed on his. Things were back to normal.

Byleth made more of an effort to visit the training grounds, whenever she found a moment to leave her office or if there was a large gap between meetings. The knights had their own area, so she was alone with her training dummies. The supplies were replenished every week by the groundskeepers, sometimes more when she had particularly violent sessions that left the dummies deflated and the training swords splintered.

The softness from her meals remained, but she appreciated being able to look in the mirror and not feel like one of the lazy lords who sat around eating their cattle and letting other people do the work for them. She trained as hard as she would if an enemy army was to converge on the monastery.

While the change in routine got out a lot of the restless energy, her dreams had taken a turn at the same time. Rarely did numb darkness find her, instead hazy and nonsensical visions took their place.

She would dream of a large city sprawled across a canyon, buildings even hewn into the cliffsides. Its citizens had green hair in every shade imaginable. Byleth could have walked among them and no one could tell she was an outsider.

It felt like a memory through someone else’s eyes, but it still felt painfully familiar. There were merchants selling their wares, lovers embracing, children playing in the streets, priests and priestesses giving thanks in the temples.

Inevitably, it would burn and she would be helpless. The worst was when she couldn’t see anything and her mind was kept in swallowing darkness. She could only hear children crying and crying, then the foul sound of bones snapping.

Those nights were the worst, leaving her off-balance for the rest of the following day, thinking that somehow a war raged and people were being slaughtered right outside her office window.

She found momentary respite from the haze in a letter set delicately on her desk. The first letter returned from her students was from Fhirdiad, from the hand of the newly-crowned king of Fódlan.

It was clear that they split the work in writing a return letter. Dimitri’s sharp scribble in the first half abruptly to Dedue’s careful and rounded handwriting. She could picture Dimitri at a large wooden desk, seated in his chair, while Dedue stood at his shoulder, while the two men drafted a response.

_Good Professor,_

Byleth looked up from the letter with a grin at the formal greeting. The last time they had seen each other was for Dimitri’s coronation, just as peace came together. She had donned her Archbishop garb in Fhirdiad’s palace, taking the recovering Rhea’s place in the ceremony. The Blue Lions and the surviving Church officials and members of the Knights were in attendance, as well as Alliance and Kingdom nobles.

Dimitri knelt before her as he vowed his life to the wellbeing of Fódlan. Unprompted, he also vowed to rebuild all that had been broken during the course of the war and the wars that had come before it.

_It brings me joy to see that your mind hasn’t been completely consumed by the obligations of leadership. I’m sure Seteth is as indispensable an ally in peacetime as he was during the war effort._

_Rooting out the corrupt will be the most difficult task. I do not know who Cornelia and Edelgard sunk their claws into. You always had a way of reading people and we wish we had your counsel._

_Felix would be a good adviser to the throne if only to beat back the more snake-like and groveling lords that come seeking money and favors. He and Sylvain are needed more in their respective regions for the time being._

It has been a slow process to fix what Edelgard had broken. It is clear that there many failings that had existed in the years before our time that her ilk was able to exploit.

Byleth pitied him in many ways. he had very few people to guide him in his new role. His parents were long dead, Rodrigue as well. Few Kingdom lords remained that were steadfast in loyalty to Dimitri, leaving him with few to trust.

Here, the handwriting changed, as Dimitri clearly passed the quill to Dedue.

_We wish we could have seen you give your speech during the Rite of Rebirth. The noblemen gave much praise in court. His Highness tried to offer leave so that I could go to the monastery, but I couldn’t leave his side during such a delicate time. Even now, he glares at me for worrying._

_Every day, more people find themselves on His Highness' side. They see him as the great king that we both know he is._

She could imagine the gentle smiles Dedue would give Dimitri when his back was turned also showered upon him after every successful negotiation.

Dimitri had carved a bloody path through Fódlan. Few would be able to forget that; some would be unable to forgive. He had to try his best and, from what Byleth could see, he found some measure of success. She was proud of him.

Dedue had always been a pillar of strength, but also a fount of wisdom that made the counsels of Fhirdiad jealous.

_I have been able to make my mark on the palace grounds. A new greenhouse was completed for plants from Duscur. I try to visit as much as possible, when time allows. Fhirdiad’s weather is harsher than the monastery’s, so I know it will be a challenge._

_I hope the plants growing in the monastery are still blooming and bringing some comfort._

Along with the letter was a list of care instructions for the Duscur plants that remained in the greenhouse, as if she would have forgotten such a thing.

The pleasantries trailed off from there to end with the two signing their names at the bottom of the page. All of it made her feel strangely melancholy. She missed her students and wished that they remained at Garreg Mach with her, but she was also glad to hear when they pursued their ambitions. All she could do was watch from afar and help when they asked.

She pulled out a fresh piece of paper and started to draft a response.

_Dimitri and Dedue,_

_I’m glad you were able to respond so quickly. It seems like everyone is busy with the post-war chaos. I hope you both find some rest soon. I know Dedue had spoken at length during the war of going to Duscur. When things have settled, you two deserve some time away from the palace._

_Felix and Sylvain have already visited the monastery recently, but I am sure you've already heard about why they were in the area._

She paused. While she could recount the events to them, she was sure the two men had already told them the gist of what had happened.

_Once the unrest has settled, I hope to visit soon. Seteth would probably watch me like a hawk if I left the monastery grounds. Sometimes, I think he rivals Dedue in his protectiveness._

Byleth could imagine Dimitri smiling at the words as Dedue protested. Both she and Dimitri had their keepers, whether they liked it or not.

_In the meantime, please, call me Byleth. We have gone through enough to be able to use first names._

She sloppily signed the bottom of page and rolled it up. The couriers wouldn’t be around until after lunch and she couldn’t find the energy to actually seek one out.

Instead, she flipped Dedue’s instructions in her hands, turning it over and over before deciding that she had neglected visiting the greenhouse for long enough. She changed into a loose blouse and her coat before leaving her paperwork behind. She looked so casual that people gave her second glances as she walked down the hall.

The greenhouse was empty by the time she reached it; the staff gone to lunch. It was a victory, being able to work in relative peace. She even had first pick of all the best equipment from the supply closet.

She picked out a watering can, seeds, trowel, and clippers before wandering up the aisles. She wasn’t particularly keen on getting covered in fertilizer, so she kept that in its respective place.

There were several boxes in the sprawling greenhouse that were not getting enough love. She had plenty of options. One berry shrub looked particularly overgrown and full of berries that were soon to become overripe and rot, so she placed her collected items down, fetched a bucket, and started pruning.

It was such a mindless act. Even when a branch or thorn scraped against her hands, leaving raised scratches, it didn’t break her concentration.

Leaves and branches piled on the ground and what fruit she could find landed in the bucket. Most of them were overripe, so the kitchen staff would have to find a way to use them rather quickly.

Once the scrub was cleaned up and only a few berries remained, she moved on to the seeds she took from the supply closet.

The packet was full of anemone seeds. Byleth didn’t remember what those flowers looked like, but she figured that they would be pretty. She found an empty spot in one of the boxes and started digging.

The greenhouse had been a necessity during the war. She had toiled for weeks hoping that magic herbs and larger crops would come to support their troops. The fear of scarcity had dogged everyone while frantically scrounging for support within the Kingdom and Alliance.

Now that the war was over, she had the luxury of wishing for pretty things.

She just hoped that her moment of peace wouldn’t be interrupted by another vision. Those never failed to chase her away from whatever she was doing. She didn’t want to be ruled by them, but she often had no choice for fear of going mad.

Any moment, a girl in a delicate dress could appear within the plants, wondering why Byleth didn’t know her name and why Byleth wouldn’t play with her. It seemed like she had to constantly check herself when she was alone for swooning spells and hallucinations, even when she sat in her office.

“You know, after than incident last week, finding you not in your office brings a bit of panic. I’m glad to see you’re doing something not dangerous.”

Byleth smiled to herself, glancing back to acknowledge Seteth as he stood in the doorway. She could handle a light teasing, even welcomed it. It felt like everything had gone back to normal. She was also simply grateful for his appearance. To see someone real and talk to someone real made her forget for a moment that she was likely losing her mind.

“You'd be surprised. I’ve got my battle scars helping here.”

She held up her hands, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see the raised marks from that far away.

“Of course. I just didn’t think I would find you here.”

She supposed that few people would expect the Archbishop to be sat at a planter box, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, covered in soil.

“It’s been a while since I visited,” she said. She turned her back to him for a moment, shaking dirt off of her trowel and pretending that she _wasn’t_ keenly listening for his footsteps as he walked closer to her. “I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

He stopped a few feet away from her. “I see. It would be a good place to think and work with one’s hands.”

She hummed, though suddenly gardening was the last thing on her mind.

“I got a letter from Dimitri and Dedue. It sounds like rebuilding Fhirdiad is going well. I was going to invite them to visit the monastery as a sign of reunification, but it sounded like they were busy enough in the capital as it was.”

Seteth nodded. “While another assassination is unlikely, the crown must anticipate it. It may be wiser for some Church representatives visit the city instead.”

“Obviously, not me,” Byleth said flatly. She anticipated his answer before she could even think to ask the question. Wandering a few miles from the monastery was one thing. Stealing away to Fhirdiad was another thing entirely.

“Unfortunately, no. The coronation was a risk enough as it was, but it was necessary.”

“You won’t go either.”

He blinked at her. “I won’t?”

She stared right back at him, wondering how suddenly she felt like an animal caught in its own trap.

“Ah, well, you are needed here as much as I am needed here,” she muttered. “Surely, someone else could step in our place.”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, the warm, wet air that surrounded them felt too heavy, like a constricting blanket.

Byleth cleared her throat, both to relief herself of the choking awkwardness and struggling to find a way, any way, to steer this conversation in another direction.

“They built a greenhouse just for Dedue’s plants at the royal palace. I just wanted to visit ours.”

“Yes. The Goddess has blessed us with plenty of crops and the fish have been plentiful. We have a surplus, enough that I’m having the excess dried and jarred for the winter months.”

“A surplus,” Byleth echoed. “I remember it was a struggle to feed everyone in the monastery when the Officer's Academy was in session.”

“Perhaps, but that may have been because you shared so many meals with your students.”

Byleth shrugged, recalling the many smaller-portioned meals she had throughout her time as a Professor. “It did good to bond with them.”

For a moment, she paused before wagging her finger at Seteth accusingly. “Also, I will not have you criticizing my figure. I am in perfect shape.”

Seteth immediately stammered, “I didn’t mean—"

She shook her head with a grin. “Of course, you didn’t.”

He didn’t seem too upset with her ribbing him a little. It felt good being able to joke with him a little, now that the whole situation with Pluto’s Hand was behind them.

Even then, it felt like something had changed. She just didn’t know how to identify it.

Dimitri had talked about how she was good at reading people. She wasn’t entirely sure about that. She could barely read herself sometimes, much less the people around her.

The man who now wandered a little closer, eyes sweeping over the plants that filled the space, was someone she could either read perfectly or was completely incapable of seeing what his intentions were.

One of the flower bushes clearly caught his eye as she tried to focus on tending the roots of one of the struggling herbal trees that occupied the same box. He reached out to brush his fingers over one of the blooms before reaching around and pulling it off of the bush with a quiet _snap_. He twirled the flower in his hand.

“You know, I don't think the greenhouse keeper will appreciate that,” Byleth murmured.

The woman had no qualms about lecturing Byleth when her gardening form was lacking. Byleth could almost hear her scolding Seteth for not using the pruning shears that sat on the table mere feet from him.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Seteth quipped.

He stepped closer and she tried to be brave and keep her eyes focused on his face. He held out the picked flower.

“For you, my Lady,” Seteth said.

Byleth’s eyes cut between the flower in his hand to his face and back. Seteth wasn’t one for tricks, but she couldn't help in hesitating.

He looked like he was going to withdraw the offer when Byleth leaned on one hand while reaching with the other.

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed for a moment, flecks of dirt passing from her to him.

She eyed the flower. The five petals were immaculate, round and soft-looking and a cornflower blue.

Her mouth twisted to a smile as she turned away, brought the flower up to her hair and curled the short stem behind her ear. It was just big enough that one of the petals brushed against her cheek.

“What do you think?” she asked, turning to show him.

The sudden, painfully unguarded expression that flittered across Seteth’s face had her breath hitching in her chest. It was all gentle affection, with something warmer underneath it. Byleth couldn’t help but glance down at his hands, where his fingers clenched and unclenched in the briefest motion, as if his body had an instinctive thought that his mind had to rein back. She wished she had to courage he had to reach out in turn. She had nothing to give him, except an outstretched hand.

She looked back up to his face to see that the vulnerable expression had disappeared. The moment for reciprocation had passed. Disappointment settled in her stomach like rocks as she waited for his response.

“It suits you, my Lady,” he said, simply.

She scoffed, turning back to her work. He was clearly trying to distance himself from what had just occurred, but she knew better. Her hair hung just enough to hide the blush. “Hardly appropriate to call me ‘my Lady’ while we are alone and I am covered in dirt. Calling me Byleth is fine, Seteth.”

“Just because you are covered in dirt doesn’t mean you aren’t Archbishop.”

Byleth sighed, “Everyone else in the monastery and Fódlan calls me Archbishop or Professor. It’d be nice for at least someone to address me by my given name.” She tapped her hand under her chin, uncaring of the specks of dirt that stuck to her skin. “By-leth. It’s Byleth.”

Her stomach soured as she poked at the dirt. He showed concern and affection, but always found a way to keep her away.

“I happen to like calling you my Lady," Seteth mumbled.

Her hands paused where they wrung over the trowel handle. “Why?”

He watched her, wide-eyed, as if he didn't mean to say it aloud, before shrugging. “I’m not quite sure.”

She didn’t like that answer. Seteth seemed so purposeful in everything that he did. Nothing he did was without reason

“You called me Byleth when I almost collapsed,” she said, suddenly recalling how his arms kept her up as she came to her senses from her first of many hallucinations.

She immediately wished she didn’t bring it up. Calling to weakness was never a good thing, especially around someone as protective as Seteth. The way his cheeks reddened almost chased away the regret. Perhaps, he thought of the incident as much as she did.

“I did. I was concerned for your wellbeing and it...slipped out.”

Her heart sank a little.

“So, the only time I will be able to hear my own name is when I’m in imminent danger?” Byleth sighed dramatically, trying to hide the sudden hurt. “If you had your way, I would never hear my name again. My name is now Archbishop or my Lady.”

Seteth exhaled through his nose, loud enough that Byleth wasn’t sure if he was amused or frustrated with her.

He plucked another blue flower from the bush, taking the long stem with it.

“It would look nice for the office, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “My desk needs a little color.”

She glanced over before training her gaze to where she aimlessly poked at the ground. She wanted to see that flower on his ear, just to see, but just seeing him hold the flower in his hands made her feel strangely warm.

Instead, she hummed a response, noncommittal.

“Ah, well, I will leave you to your work.” He paused for a moment. “Byleth.”

Her head snapped up just as he started to turn away with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

It took a long time for her smile to leave her face.

* * *

Her days were now full of sitting and working on a trade agreement between the Church and Almyra. It was slow work and time consuming, eventually finding a plateau one day where she could only scan over drafts and correct grammar and hope that some kind of peace could be found there. It was of paramount importance in a post-war world, as well as mind-numbingly boring. She hoped for an uneventful sleep to accompany her uneventful day. The thought of war hardly graced her mind.

It didn’t stop her mind from going to that dark, violent place.

She knew it wasn’t real. The part of her brain that was still conscious told her that. It wasn’t a place she had never been and people she had never known. She didn’t remember the Red Canyon. She didn’t know the sprawling, burning city. She didn’t know the thousands of lives she saw lived and destroyed in the same breath.

She knew this place and she knew the people surrounding her.

It was Enbarr, again. Her mind often revisited the battle, against her will. It was never as a memory, but a distorted nightmare. The victory of reality would turn into a bloodied defeat.

She knew the truth. She knew how the Empire’s forces fell, how Edelgard’s body slumped to the ground with blood pouring from her chest. Byleth almost dealt that killing blow, but Dimitri was faster, coming away with a bloodied shoulder quickly fixed by Mercedes’s magic. They had won. She had kept her students alive. She kept Seteth alive, all to the war’s bitter end.

And yet…

In the chasm that was her mind, it was as if everything had gone wrong. Rationality, knowing the truth, would never visit her. Sometimes, they would get slaughtered before they even got into the palace. Sometimes, Edelgard would burn them all at the foot of her throne.

This time, they fought their way beyond the walls and through the courtyard, into the huge room just before the throne room.

Byleth lead the charge, cutting down Edelgard’s men as she went. For a moment, she had forgotten that this wasn’t just a memory of the battle. It was almost exactly what had happened.

Then, a chill crawled up her spine. Edelgard’s men doubled and tripled in number, giving a war cry as they gathered on the opposite side of the long hall. The army charged forward with a ghastly howl and suddenly she found herself swinging her sword in a sea of men.

“Byleth!”

She glanced up to see Seteth on his wyvern, so high up that he could reach the vaulted ceiling. He brandished his weapon, the Spear of Assal, and his armor shone like that of a divine hero.

He ushered his mount forward just as a shout sounded in Edelgard’s ranks. It wasn’t of fear; it was a command to fire.

Byleth watched as Seteth soared forward as the arrows arced through the air. One, two, three arrows struck him in the chest. His body jolted and his fingers went limp on the reins.

“No!” Byleth howled, almost as loud as his wyvern mount screamed as the archers riddled its body with arrows.

He fell, fell, fell. His body struck the ground with a hollow thud.

Her body moved to approach him, to perhaps stymie the bleeding and keep him alive for one of the healers. Instead, she found herself frozen in place as around her, her students fell. By sword, arrow, magic, one by one, their blood ran red on the ground.

She failed. She didn’t know where she went wrong, but she had to fix it. She summoned her power, to turn back time and give them back their lives. Instead of the world moving under her feet, a horrible pain radiated from her stomach.

Byleth gasped, crumpling to her knees. This was too visceral to be normal. This wasn’t a normal nightmare, but she didn't know why. The dream should have ended by now, but it continued on and on.

_It’s a crutch. You cannot rely on it anymore._

Sothis’ voice echoed in her head, the first time she had heard it since they had become one. Byleth crawled forward, struggling to find someone, anyone alive.

Flayn had fallen like a marionette with its strings cut, blood matting the side of her head. Byleth had killed the brawler who struck her, but too late.

“Please,” she gasped. Tears blurred her sight and at least hid her failures from her for a little while.

_You have to be perfect. Do you understand?_

She gasped a sob, pulling Flayn into her arms, still not understanding. She was almost glad that Seteth was already dead. To see Flayn in such a state would destroy him.

_If you want them to live, you cannot stumble. You cannot lower your guard. What is dead will be dead._

Flayn’s body melted like smoke in her hands, turning to blond hair and harsh features.

“Father?” she breathed.

_He is dead, forever. That is what will happen if you fail again. They will die, forever._

Now, it wasn’t Sothis’ voice, but her own. It was the same beratement that haunted her after Jeralt had died. She had failed. Not even her powers could’ve saved him.

Jeralt’s body replaced itself with Flayn’s again, then Seteth’s, then each of her student’s. Everyone she had ever known and cared about, lay dead in her arms.

“I want to wake up now,” Byleth whispered.

Whatever message this dream was meant to bring, she got it. She didn't fully understand it yet, but she just wanted to go back to the blissful darkness.

She would get no relief, as the acrid heat from fire and lingering magic chilled. Her eyes traced a path along the devastation to see a wraith waiting at the end of the long hall. Byleth reached for the Sword of the Creator, only to find it gone from where it had rested next to her. The dagger on her waist was gone, too.

Edelgard, twisted by magic and her poisoned ideals, strode forward. Each footstep sounded like a crack of thunder. She carried her bloodied ax in one hand. Something told Byleth that it was Dimitri’s blood that covered the blade.

“My dear professor, all this power, and for what?” Edelgard mocked. Her voice was distorted, demonic.

Byleth could only watch, helplessly, as Edelgard reached out and grabbed her by the throat. The body in Byleth’s lap—she had lost track of who it was—rolled off and hit the ground with a muted thump. Byleth struggled as Edelgard lifted her into the air.

“You lose and now I will wipe you and the little goddess in your head out of existence. Your corpse will be the foundation of my new world.”

Edelgard lashed out, her sharp, bony hand going into and through Byleth’s chest with a sickening crunch. She yanked her hand out of Byleth’s chest, holding a red, pulsing mass of flesh in her hand.

Byleth’s teeth chattered and the world tinged in red. The warning had turned seamlessly into a nightmare.

“Look. Now, your heart beats,” Edelgard taunted

Byleth’s mouth moved around unspoken words.

She wanted to wake up.

* * *

Days later, the thought hit while she was washing her face, making her flinch so hard she almost put her fist into the mirror.

She hadn’t bled for a _long_ time.

Her flows had been inconsistent throughout her life. A mercenary’s life didn't allow for consistency, especially when money was tight and there was little to eat. It had evened out in the months that she was a professor, where food was plentiful, but even then, Sothis’ awakening inside her threw everything out of whack again. The months following the war, she could enjoy some kind of consistency, which was once again lost without her realizing.

The thought, the very implication, bothered her enough to look for a simple spell in the library.

Even the rumor that she would have a pregnancy scare would only bring scandal, but she couldn’t let this sit and fester as she tried to serve Fódlan. She needed to find answers somehow and leave no stone unturned. Even this wild impossibility had to be ruled out.

The library was deserted and Byleth recalled that this one of the designated days when the monastery grounds were cleaned. It would be hours before the lucky ones who were designated to clear the monastery interior would give the place a cursory cleaning.

Even then, as she walked around the shelves, she couldn’t help but glance behind her every few moments. At any moment, someone could approach her as she tried to find the book and ask inquire about what she was doing. She would have to make something up and likely cause speculation.

It took too long before she found a book of magic that she recalled Mercedes reading on more than one occasion when she looked for more advanced spellwork. She pulled it from the shelf and gave a furtive glance over her shoulder. Nobody close by. She flipped it open to the glossary and searched for a few selective words. Nothing appeared. In the same section, there were more books on magic and she similarly found nothing.

She sighed as she realized there was one place where all of the books on healing would have ended up. She even recalled pulled the books herself for when she helped teach her students battlefield healing during the war. She needed to go into Manuela's old office.

Swallowing a pit of dread, she started back down towards the hallway of offices. It wasn’t difficult to find. Seteth's office door was closed, meaning he was out or in a meeting. That did little to assuage her fear of being discovered.

Manuela’s office had been sealed off since war's end. The healers assumed it was cursed since the woman had defected to the Empire and there was no need for a school medic’s office if there was no school.

Byleth wedged the door open and almost sneezed at the stale, dusty air that wafted from the room. There was still the smell of poultices and herbs and magic, even after years of disuse. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, even the stripped mattresses. The vials and jars full of samples and herbs had grey-green tinge. There would be no use for those.

Byleth closed the door behind her and stepped toward the bookshelf, ignoring the memories of keeping watch when her students were injured. She remembered Flayn sleeping in one of the beds and Seteth at her side, holding her hand.

She shook her head, forcing herself to look over the books in front of her. As school medic, she surely would have had access to spells useful for when dealing with students. Almost everything was about healing battlefield wounds. There were multiple books just on healing arrow injuries, both with magic and with manual methods like stitching. Dealing with poisons was another topic that seemed nearly-exhausted.

One of the small bound books at the bottom shelf caught her eye: _The Magicks of Life and Reproduction_. She almost wanted to laugh at how on the nose the name was. Apparently, it wasn’t an often-referenced book. She didn’t want to think of the implications of that. Instead, she flipped through the pages and found exactly what she needed: a spell to detect pregnancy. To her immense relief, it didn’t seem too complicated of a spell, even for someone with limited skill in magic. Even the results were supposed to be very unambiguous.

If she was going to go down this route, she need to have an absolute answer.

She took it and another book blindly picked from the shelf and tucked them under her robes. At least, with two books no one would suspect that she was specifically looking for the spell.

She felt like a thief, sneaking out of Manuela’s office and shutting the door behind her. There was no returning the books, since she couldn’t risk being caught while trying to return them. Even as she walked away, she tried to justify it to herself. She was Archbishop and she could take what she wanted from a dead woman’s office. She was Archbishop and yet, there she was, carrying this secret that she didn’t know was true or not. She could almost hear Jeralt scolding her. Making mountains out of molehills, he would tell her.

Just thinking about him made her want to crumple, despite the months that separated her and his death. Instead, she focused on getting back to her quarters and putting an end to this particular worry.

In a fit of paranoia, she locked herself in her bedroom and set the open book onto the bed.

Her lips moved around the simple spell, turning the magic inward. A chill and then a tingling warmth crawled up her spine. For a moment, nothing happened. Just as Byleth began to wonder if she had performed the spell incorrectly, light glowed in response to her words

She almost swooned out of sudden panic.

She had been sure, so sure that nothing would come from the test, that she would be back to having no answers. It was a trick. It had to be.

She did the spell over and over until the words came unbidden and her fingertips were numb from magic. Blue, blue, blue. There was no question.

“This is impossible.”

She shut the book with a harsh _crack_ and crumpled to her knees.

Memories filtered back as the realization of how impossible the whole situation was.

Byleth had never…she had never…

Jeralt had told her the process of making children many years ago, painfully answering each one of her flat questions. The rest she figured from perusing the right books and listening to conversations in taverns and caravans. She knew what it took to make a child and she knew she did none of the necessary steps.

And yet, the blue light left no room for doubt. Everything else seemed to fall into place after that. The nausea, clearly explained. Even she knew that was a symptom, though it was attributed to a hundred other conditions.

Then there were the dreams and hallucinations. It must have been her body warning her that something had changed. Or was the child’s spirit reaching out to her? Now, she understood why she was warned not to use Sothis’ power to turn back time. It wasn’t possible now that another life was tied to her, tangible, unlike the consciousness of the Goddess.

It was impossible. Something like this wasn’t possible. Byleth knew that she had come from her mother and father. This child...came from Byleth and Byleth alone.

Was this Sothis, in one last act of Goddess-like power? Or was this one of Rhea's machinations? Even from what she had managed to gather, Rhea couldn’t possibly have manipulated her body as a grown woman, could she?

One answer created a thousand questions, all of them with frightening implications.

The final and the loudest question came to the forefront.

What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to continue on with this?

Byleth pressed her hands to her stomach. There was no bump to indicate her pregnancy, but there was some part of her that could sense it. Somehow, she had known for months and she had reached out to it.

Her child. Hers. Her miracle, foretold by the visions that had chased her. The baby in the basket, the child that lingered in the smoke and shadows, all led to this one, final revelation.

“What am I supposed to do?” she breathed.

Sothis would tsk at her for panicking, but Byleth had every right to panic. One day, her belly would grow and there would be no denying that she was pregnant. Scandal would only follow, enough to disturb what fragile peace and negotiations they had.

She just needed to keep up appearances for now and find a spell that told her how far along she was. She needed to know how much time she had, how long before there would be no way for her to hide her secret. A secret that she knew she couldn’t share with anyone. It caught in her throat before she could even think of telling someone. Seteth’s judgment was what she feared more than anything else. He would likely hate her for bringing such scandal to the Church. Worse, he would treat it like a personal betrayal.

Sylvain’s accusations stung, even weeks later, even though she knew the man was ignorant of so many things that had happened since he had left Garreg Mach.

_Will-they, won’t-they._

Not that she was going to act on her feelings any time soon. He put flowers in her hair and had so much concern for her and if she didn’t act, he might. Or, she was being foolish and she was reading too much into his actions and nothing would come from any of the affection he has ever shown her.

She shook her head, cursing herself for immediately thinking about frivolous impossibilities. None of that mattered anymore. Keep up appearances. Pretend nothing is wrong. If that meant lying to Seteth's face, so be it. There was only one certainty. She was pregnant and one day, a child would be born into the world. She had to move about the world with that as the only fact for her to rely on.

The books went into the fire and she smiled shakily when the cooking staff dropped off her dinner for the night.

That night, she had hazy dreams of a weight resting on her chest and a small hand clinging to her finger. The next morning, she woke up with her hands rested protectively over her abdomen. There could be no question. Her very spirit knew the truth and she couldn't help the strange excitement at the prospect of having a child, as sudden and unconventional as it was.

She just...needed to contend with everything else that came with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The baby is revealed!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


	9. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO COMMENTED ON THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER
> 
> [There's art from Chapter 7 now that I had commissioned! Check it out!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts/status/1260801893741105152?s=20)
> 
> Enjoy!

She was about 2 and a half months along. The only point of reference she had was the strange flutter she felt in the weeks prior to the Rite of Rebirth. That was the beginning, though she didn’t know it at the time.

It was a maddening secret to keep. The entire axis of her world had shifted and she couldn’t tell anyone or give any indication of what had happened. All she could do was keep up appearances. She made no changes to how she dressed. She continued to train with sword and lance and magic, even taking up some archery despite her revulsion to the art. Her two servings per meal continued, though she was suddenly very conscious on why she suddenly wanted to eat so much.

She couldn’t help the desire to lock herself away and steep herself in the fact that a child grew inside of her. That fact followed her, clinging her every waking thought. Even as she made final preparations on the literacy classes, she could only think about how obvious her nausea should have been and how she had unknowingly hidden herself for weeks. This secret was hers to hide as long as she wanted, until her body said otherwise.

In the cathedral pews, she would see women with obvious bumps, asking for blessings from the attending priests. Sometimes, they would come up to Byleth, asking her to lay hands on them to bring about a healthy delivery. Before, she did so while feeling awkward and intrusive. Now, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to do it at all without panicking.

She would need to find a way to excuse herself from ceremonies whenever possible. It was shameful to hide herself out of fear, when her position meant to interact with the faithful and help stitch the country together. She was just racking up the amounts of transgressions to beat herself up about later.

Then, the day of the literacy classes approached, something that had been in the back of her mind for weeks only to be stifled by everything else. That was something she couldn’t reliably skip out on. It was her idea after all. Seteth made sure that she knew it, passing on as much responsibility as he could to her. He was still helpful, of course, in narrowing down candidates for the teachers and helping with getting word out of the classes. He suggested that some of the monastery guard escort the new students, even suggesting they bring them via horse and wagon.

Eventually, she chose two nuns and one priest to teach the classes, all three kind and very well-read. If she made a point of only one of the chosen being from a well-to-do family, she would never admit it.

At the beginning of the week, in the morning sun, a parade of people, young and old—mostly young—walked up the hills towards the monastery. Some of the more rambunctious children ran and skipped, to the intense relief of their new teachers. While they were excited for the task, they weren’t hoping for a classroom full of rowdy, energized students. If they could exhaust some of that energy before even getting through the monastery gates, the better it would be.

Each classroom was cleaned and writing utensils sat at each desk. The house flags had been taken down and put into storage. There had been some debate on whether or not to burn the Black Eagle house flag in ceremony. That had been tabled, but Byleth remembered the Battle of Grondor and how blood from all three houses spilled on the ground. She couldn’t allow the flags to burn, especially when she counted among her allies those that, at one point or another, studied and fought under that same flag.

It would take a long time to shake off the ill-will against the Officer’s Academy, after it had allowed Edelgard to grow in power unchecked and failed to rein in Dimitri from his worst impulses. These students walked into a monastery that had been sacked and pillaged. There was the mark of war and death that hung over, no matter how much cleansing they did. All of the flags stayed down and out of sight. The Church standard flew instead in its white and silver glory. There was unity to be found there. No need to stir up bitterness from the long war.

Byleth watched from one of the balconies as the students filed in. While she stood outside with little fear of being discovered, as she had checked in the mirror at many angles before leaving her room if there was any bump to be seen, she still found herself very conscious of the situation.

The intense wave of nostalgia brought tears to her eyes, while it was so different to what had been the norm at the Officer’s Academy. No pleated and perfect uniforms, but that of commoners and merchants. She couldn’t help the swell of amazement to see that students actually showed up.

Was this what Rhea felt at the beginning of each year with the Officer's Academy? It was a strange mix of pride and protectiveness.

As soon as the students checked in, they were divided into three classes and filed into the once-lonely rooms. She was drawn to it, descending from her perch to see the results of so much planning. The grassy area outside the classrooms had been tended and raked and there were some playthings like balls and jump ropes in one corner to be used during break time.

The classrooms were remarkably quiet, with the exception from a couple of a few voices. She could hear the teachers and a couple of small, brave voices of the students.

She peeked in the windows, just to get a glimpse. Letters of the alphabet scrawled onto the board for the first two classrooms, those who had no experience with reading. The last classroom had some of the older students, who were given some teaching from their families or were self-taught. The elder nun wrote short sentences on the board, going through each word, one at a time, before having her students repeat them.

Her own child would be a student one day. They would learn how to read and write and how to count. They would learn their prayers and how to wield a sword. Immediately, she corrected herself. No swords, not if she could help it. The ways of war would be far behind her and her child.

It amazed her how easily she had accepted this new role. She would be a mother, bringing a child into the world. Still, it was a thought met with fear. A child with no father, not a result of any natural union. Every single child in those classrooms had a mother and a father, created and born by similar events. There would be a time that she would have to explain the events prior to her child’s creation and she wasn’t sure she would ever have an answer.

She shook her head with a hiss. Not something she wanted to think about. It would be years before her child would ask those kinds of questions. By then, she hoped to have some answers.

She stood in the shadows, watching as some of the groundskeepers brought out baskets of food for the students. They paid her little heed, though she did get some confused glances. Perhaps Rhea had been more detached than Byleth was, making her appearance unanticipated. She hadn’t been exactly the most engaged Archbishop in the past several weeks, so it was to be expected.

Eventually, the hour ended and the church bells rang, signaling the break. Even from behind the wooden doors, she could hear chairs scraping against stone and the sounds of cheering and conversation. Byleth thought to hide herself or at least put herself in a position that wasn’t completely obvious to the students who were about to pour out of the halls.

She didn’t have a chance to make a choice as the doors opened and the first students came out towards the open area. Immediately, there was hesitation, smiles turning to confused masks. Byleth couldn’t help but feel a little awkward at that, like she was somehow disturbing the peace.

“Please help yourself to the food and enjoy the sunshine. Treat the monastery as if it was your home. We welcome you here.” The words of hospitality came out of her on instinct and even she was shocked with herself. Maybe she was better at this than she thought.

Eventually, some of the bolder children walked past her to get to the food behind her, picking out rolls and fresh fruit. The others followed suit, stepping into the noonday sun.

The adults approached her, kissing her hands and murmuring words of gratitude for allowing such an opportunity. She allowed the contact, despite how conscious she was of the child that was inside her, feeling a sense of pride that was similar to watching her former students excel on the battlefield but different at the same time.

Each one paid their respects and obtained what food they could after the younger ones had taken advantage.

A couple of the children went to the toys after eating. They sang little songs as they jumped rope and others figured out games to play with the other toys. One of the balls strayed from the line, rolling in front of Byleth’s feet. She kicked it back over to them and, in that moment, earned the respect of almost every student.

These were not shadowy apparitions or feverish hallucinations, but they still felt like a glimpse into the future.

A small boy, perhaps only eight years old, tugged at the hem of her blouse.

“My Lady?”

Few children had the courage to come up to her to speak to her before the literacy classes. It was always a strange sort of treat when they did, this time being no exception. She knelt down to his level, not even wincing when her bad knee creaked at the motion. The boy had the ruffled appearance and how his pants had worn thin at the knees told her enough that this was a curious, exploring child. He was fearless too, staring her in the face.

“Yes? What is your name?”

He straightened and puffed out his chest. “Matthieu, my Lady. Is it true that you fought and killed the Death Knight? My dad said it’s all made-up, but I think it’s true.”

She wanted to grin at the question. Often, children asked about her hair or the war in plain, brave questions. “We had fought the Death Knight many times.”

Fort Merceus had been such a chaotic scene that she barely remembered who dealt the final blow to the Death Knight. She remembered battalions being thrown at him, men dying around him. Her throat had been closed up from panic when her students closed on him, willing to tear apart time itself in order to keep them alive if she had to.

It had been a brutal fight. Ashe’s arrows pierced his back. Annette and Mercedes’ magic seared his skin. Seteth speared the fallen knight in the chest, yelling victory, revenge for Flayn.

She twisted her face in thought and tapped her finger on her chin. “There were many heroes that day. I don’t remember who it was who killed the Death Knight once and for all.”

Matthieu pouted, clearly unhappy with the answer.

At that moment, Seteth stepped into view from one of the hallways, watching her and the students from the shadows. Byleth couldn’t help but smile a little when she saw him. His appearance also gave her an out.

She pointed at Seteth.

“Why don’t you ask Advisor Seteth? He helped fell the Death Knight and would give you a better answer.”

Matthieu’s gaze followed to where Byleth pointed. He shook his head.

“He’s scary, my Lady. I don’t want to talk to him.”

While Byleth stifled a giggle, she recalled how frightening Seteth had been while atop his wyvern during the war. He was every bit the warrior that the continent needed.

She waved him over. Seteth paused, wide-eyed as he took in the scene.

“Perhaps, he is a bit intimidating," Byleth whispered conspiratorially. "But, he is a war hero, like King Dimitri.”

Seteth approached and she felt a similar sensation of nervousness. Different reasons, but still very present. He wouldn’t know her secret. Surely, he would never know without performing the same spell on her or her outright telling him.

“Advisor Seteth, Matthieu here had questions the day we defeated the Death Knight, once and for all. My memory is a bit foggy."

Seteth’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a sparkle of mirth in his eye as he took in her request.

“There were many heroes, but it was the Archbishop's students who won the day. I believe it was Lady Annette who fell the beast.”

Matthieu watched him with wide eyes.

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Advisor Seteth.”

The boy scurried away without another word. Clearly, once he had gotten his answer, playing games was next on his agenda.

Another hand pulled at her blouse to get her attention.

“Will war ever happen again, my Lady?”

Byleth turned to see a girl watching her expectantly. The little girl immediately shrunk under Byleth’s gaze. Her hands clutched a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest.

“My mama went to war and didn’t come back,” she mumbled, half into the rabbit’s head. “I don’t want the same thing to happen to Papa and my big brother.”

Sudden grief struck through her heart. Byleth had been like a child when Jeralt had died, frozen by grief and unable to truly process it. With grief came the guilt, knowing that Byleth likely played a role in the skirmish or battle that took this girl’s mother away from her.

“I lost my own father to this war. I understand your pain,” Byleth said. “As long as I am here and I stand as leader, war will not come to Fódlan again.”

Bold promises made to a child, one she knew she couldn’t keep with absolute certainty. It was easy to fight for peace, harder to keep it. Her child...she wanted her child to live in a peaceful world, too.

Byleth patted her head.

“I’m glad. Now, your classes will be starting soon. Hold tight to your bunny and learn a lot, okay?”

The girl nodded before returning to stand with an older boy who had the same chestnut brown hair.

Byleth stood up and her knee creaked audibly. She looked over to see Seteth obviously schooling his expression to something neutral. She didn’t want to know what it was before.

Sothis help her, she was being _motherly_.

“You are quite the natural at this it seems,” Seteth mused.

She shrugged. The trill of fear that she had revealed too much, given too obvious a hint, was there. Foolish, as she still gave no indication that anything had changed between one month and the next.

“I was a professor, if you remember,” she replied drily.

Seteth huffed. “You were teaching young adults, not children. It even appears that they are drawn to you.”

She was going to have her own child. Byleth wanted to scream it at him, just to get it off of her chest. Would he understand? Would he hate her?

Byleth shrugged again, pushing those thoughts away. “I will try to not raise my sword again, but I will if it’s in defense of them. I promise you that.”

_All hail, Warrior Mother, Planter and Harvester, Bringer of Abundance._

She blinked and rubbed her eye, feigning an itch. Another phantom voice, though she knew the truth?

“I will not dissuade you from that. I know now that once you put your mind to something as noble as that, there is little stopping you,” Seteth replied.

They shared a smile and, after the classes resumed at the next chime of the bell, they went their separate ways.

That night, she dreamt of the ghost child, not quite a ghost anymore, sitting in her lap and humming a nonsensical tune.

Then, the dream turned dark and she dreamt of a hooded figure, forming a doll out of clay and flesh.

_“So close. The twelfth time. I know it will work. I know it.”_

* * *

Byleth remembered her first kiss.

Jeralt and his company had visited a village to the west of Fódlan. They had taken up residence at one of the struggling inns, throwing enough money at the innkeepers that would cover their expenses and more for half a year. The market next to the inn was owned by a large family. The girl Byleth's age, Lila, had a particular fondness for her and especially liked to watch Byleth whip off the heads of dandelions and weedy flowers with her training sword.

One day, in the field behind the buildings, Byleth had uncovered a shiny black stone and pulled it out of the ground. She wiped the dirt off onto her coat, uncaring about the mess. She mumbled something about a present and pressing it into Lila’s palm. The girl was always so nice to her, sneaking all sorts of treats when her parents weren’t looking.

One day, Byleth would leave and they would likely never see each other again.

They were close and Byleth’s hand was still in Lila’s and suddenly Lila leaned down and kissed Byleth on the mouth. The blonde, hair in delicate braids tied with purple ribbons, smiled with a blush as she pulled away.

Byleth had just blinked at her, unsure how to react. Kissing—on the lips, no less—was a thing that adults did. Adults did it when they were happy and when they were sad and all things in between. Lila looked like she was something between happy and nervous and Byleth felt nothing. She was neither happy nor sad, so she didn’t know why Lila wanted to kiss her.

Clearly, Lila had taken it as an insult. Her smile turned to tears almost instantly at the implied rejection. Byleth watched her run off, still feeling nothing. She didn’t know what the big deal was. She had seen adults kiss each other in the mouth plenty of times, but it never seemed like it had importance. It wasn’t until Sothis that she realized Lila’s bravery. She felt bad for not giving some kind of a reaction, even if it was simple confusion at the gesture. She wondered if someone kissed her now, now that joy and pain and sorrow were her companions and not strangers, what kind of reaction she would have.

Not that these memories really mattered. Lila was long gone, perhaps a casualty of the war, or married to whoever she loved or whoever her family deemed necessary.

Byleth was pregnant and it wasn’t out of an act of love or passion or anything out all. This was not the story in one of the bawdy romance novels Sylvain liked to read aloud comically during the long slogs during campaigns. Everyone had laughed and rolled their eyes, but most of them seemed to have some knowledge of the acts described in the stories. Byleth just...didn’t.

She pursed her lips and glanced down at the non-existent bump. Alone on the stone patio outside the cathedral, she was allowed private introspection of…of everything.

The umpteenth time, she thought about telling the truth to Seteth. To have at least one confidante would at least keep her from going mad in the process of hiding the pregnancy from the rest of Fódlan. And then there was that pesky, fluttering feeling, the kind of feeling she was sure Lila had felt the moment before kissing her. It was something that she couldn’t let out, no matter how much she wanted to. The truth, her feelings, all things that would only burn down everything.

She knew better. The scandal that could have come from her getting injured fighting the bandits would be nothing in comparison to the unwed Archbishop having a child. Who would believe her if she said that the child didn’t have a father? Not even church scripture had foretold such a thing. She would know, she pored over every text and tome she could get her hands on, under the pretense of learning the Church’s history. There had been stories of miracle births, of infertility turning to great abundance of children for wanting families. In the footnotes of one such text, was the telling of an enlightened race that had been created by Sothis herself. There was no description of what they looked like, or if any still existed.

And then there were the dreams of the Red Canyon. That dream, from so long ago, tugged at her. It had been the ending of a story, but she didn’t know the beginning. Sothis had known, deep down. It explained why she led her to that place, only to find twisted beasts and fragments of memory. If Sothis had found the truth, she never told Byleth. Now, Byleth could only regret that she didn’t ask more questions while Sothis was still able to speak to her.

Jeralt had bemoaned how there had been no time the day he died. While belated, she felt the same thing. There had been no time to linger in the darkness Solon had cast her into, no time before war consumed the country. And now that things slowed down, those who could give her knowledge were gone.

Byleth blinked as the wind picked up and its chill pierced through her thick cloak. The large patios outside of the cathedral were excellent places to hide and think. It was far enough from her office that the responsibilities that awaited on her desk were muted calls that would be addressed in due time. Autumn was fast-approaching and the peak heat of summertime had already come and gone.

If all goes to plan, her child would be born in the early spring, while winter’s child still lingered. She would need to be prepared with woolen blankets and little knitted hats and definitely avoid giving birth outside. Giving birth would be difficult on its own; the least she could do was make sure to do it in a bed. In a bed, with likely shocked nurses assisting.

By then, she would be long gone from the halls of Garreg Mach, unless her resolve wavered and she actually told Seteth. Then, she would give birth in her four-poster bed or in a dead woman’s office. What then? Would her child be taken from her?

“Professor?”

Byleth turned at the sound of her old title, that familiar, questioning lilt, wondering if she would face another hallucination. Instead, a blue-haired woman stood at the top of the steps, wringing her hands in front of her, very real, very much present.

“Marianne?” Byleth sputtered.

The younger woman smiled in greeting, in such a way that Byleth had never seen before. “Hello, Professor. Ah, Archbishop, I mean.”

Byleth almost burst into tears seeing her, but she didn’t know why. “Marianne. It’s good to see you.”

What a difference a year made. The last time Byleth had seen her, it was at Dimitri’s coronation. She had taken an arrow to the shoulder, which was in bandages underneath her court attire. Those bandages were gone now, and it looked like she didn’t favor one arm over the other. She was so bright, as if the years of suffering had been lifted from her shoulders.

Marianne walked over to where she leaned against the stone balcony. She wanted to reach out and embrace her.

“I must confess, you have been in my thoughts, being Archbishop and all.”

Byleth nodded with a shaky smile. “I am glad to see you are well. I’m sorry for not writing to you. What have you been doing since war’s end?”

“Well, the animal shelter I used to help with was closed while we were at war. I decided to, well, open my own, in Fhirdiad. It took some convincing to get the money from my father, but King Dimitri was able to negotiate on my behalf.”

She wondered how much that was tacit negotiation and how much was thinly-veiled threats. While Dimitri had shed himself of the beastly, cruel side that had dominated his life for years, there was still that righteous anger that coupled with his steadfast loyalty. Now, he had the armies and purse strings of Fódlan at his disposal.

“That was kind of him,” Byleth said simply.

“Very. I have a little shop in one of the neighborhoods. It is me and two younger mages who graduated from the school of sorcery.”

Byleth could imagine it: Marianne spending her days with animals and magic, two things she loved the most.

“I am glad to see you have found something you are passionate about. What brings you to Garreg Mach?” Byleth asked.

Marianne looked away for a moment, out towards the rolling hills and forests that were on full display where they stood.

“I thought to visit. I had been speaking with Mercedes and she suggested I make the trip. She sends many blessings.”

“You've been speaking to Mercedes,” Byleth echoed.

Marianne nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “We both have been in Fhirdiad since the war’s end. There were so many animals wounded and homeless after our siege there so I wanted to help wherever I could.”

“And Mercedes has her orphanage.”

“Indeed” Marianne said. “In fact, it is right down the road from where I am. Convenient, isn’t it? As if the Goddess wanted us to find each other.”

Byleth couldn’t argue with her, though she wasn’t too sure that Sothis, if she still existed on some plane or another, would intervene.

Marianne had come to the monastery shortly after Byleth’s own return. She stayed as a medic, avoiding the battlefield whenever possible, and tended to the horses. When the time came for the most crucial battles of the war, she donned silver armor and charged in as a holy knight, healing and dealing out deadly magic to those who opposed them. She had always been so tired-looking and sad, though age and friendship seemed to have lessened her pain somewhat, and Byleth had felt a strange urge to hide her away from the pains of the world.

Marianne had lived to see the end of the war, and beyond. Byleth was glad to see that the weight of her Crest had lessened somewhat.

“I’m glad that you found friendship with Mercedes.”

“Oh, yes. She is uncommonly kind to me, though I feel it is more than I deserve.”

Byleth finally reached out and squeezed her arm. “After your bravery during the war, I think you deserve some kindness, Marianne.”

Marianne shrugged and Byleth couldn’t help the feeling of sorrow that Marianne still didn’t think herself worthy of affection and friendship.

“Well, what is life like in Fhirdiad? I’m sure you and Mercedes are working hard helping the Goddess’s creatures.”

As soon as animals were mentioned, Marianne perked up again. “We had a lot of horses that would have otherwise been put down were it not for magic intervention, as well as pets that weren’t evacuated with their families. Mercedes has many children who lost their parents. Sometimes I wonder if she ever sleeps, since she always is tending to one child or another.”

“Mercedes, the matriarch,” Byleth mused. “But hopefully it is not all work and you both have time for yourselves.”

“We walk to the local parish together. She likes to pick flowers and play with the cats at the shelter and—,” Marianne trailed off there as a blush lit up her face.

“Likes baking sweets?”

Marianne’s blush only seemed to brighten. “Of course.”

She wasn’t sure why Marianne was acting so shy about it. The two women interacted little from what Byleth remembered. Two magic-user required that their roles after the battle were in close quarters, but that was all she recalled.

They fell to silence for a moment. It was something that happened often when they spoke during the war. There would be some conversation, then they would get caught up in their own thoughts.

Byleth turned to suggest that they take a walk around the monastery grounds when a pensive look from Marianne had her pause.

“Is something on your mind?” Byleth asked.

Marianne looked her over with eyes that seemed so much older than her years. “You look different, Archbishop. Like something has changed.”

Byleth’s throat closed up and she had to press her hand back to the stone to keep from physically shaking.

Transparent. Horribly, painfully obvious.

“Really?” she croaked. “How so?”

Marianne paled and her eyes widened. “Oh, it was so rude of me to bring it up. Think nothing of it, Professor—ah—Archbishop.”

Her eyes didn’t linger on Byleth’s abdomen at any point, but rather at her face. Byleth smiled shakily, realizing that there was no way that Marianne would have known anything.

“Of course, Marianne. It’s no problem at all. Will you accompany me to the stables? I remember that being your favorite place.”

Her face brightened. “Of course.”

The moment of panic forgotten, they started across the bridge dividing the cathedral from the rest of the monastery grounds. No visions, no obvious hint that something was different. She mentally cheered that her sickness didn’t raise its ugly head.

Morning sickness, she had discovered was the term, not food poisoning or stress. If it struck now, it would be definitely something new for Marianne to key into.

“Oh, now I remember what I was thinking!” Marianne exclaimed.

Byleth glanced over to see Marianne clasping her hands.

“Hm?”

“It’s your birthday today, isn’t it, Professor?”

Byleth blanched. The 20th day of the Horsebow Moon. She had entirely forgotten, as had the rest of the monastery.

“I didn't bring you a gift. I’m sorry,” Marianne murmured.

She shook her head. “Think nothing of it. How about you call me Byleth instead of Professor or Archbishop? That would be the best gift you could possibly give me.”

Marianne blinked at her for a moment before nodding. “Of course, Byleth. Happy birthday.”

Byleth nodded back with a smile.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Marianne left after they tended the horses. It seemed like the horses remembered her and she was so absorbed in her work that Byleth felt like an intruder.

They offered each other well-wishes and Marianne blushed bright red again when Byleth asked her to give Mercedes her regards. Marianne had made reservations at one of the inns in town, so Byleth knew she didn’t need to worry as the sun was quickly setting.

She returned to find that her stack of paperwork was greatly diminished and there was a small box set on her desk.

Byleth undid the bow and opened it to find a pendant inside. It was made from silver, nest-like strands that surrounded a single white gem in the middle.

There was no note that accompanied it, but she knew exactly who would give such a gift. While the implications of the gift nagged at her, bringing guilt over her continued lie, the care that was placed in choosing the gift made her feel warm inside.

It was done out of care, more than anything. The one who gave this to her cared about her, whether it was romantic or not.

She placed it around her neck and when Seteth blushed furiously when they had their meeting hours later, her suspicions were confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Marianne/Mercedes is this vine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqCL2eyjqmM)  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [I am attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter! Follow me!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


	10. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [There's art now that I had commissioned! Check it out!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts/status/1260801893741105152?s=20)  
> Thank you for all the love for the last chapter!  
> Unfortunately, updates are going to be a bit slower nowadays, please be patient with me :)  
> Enjoy!

When a courier burst into her office, red-faced and out of breath, Byleth was sure the first words that would come out of his mouth was that someone was dead.

It happened all too often during the war. Either a courier or a guard or a spy would sprint into the meeting room or run up to war council members telling of invasions, assassinations, and waylaid supply shipments. It was never good news.

She waited as the man caught his breath, hands clenched into fists and ready to hear what he had to report.

“House Gaspard is empty.”

That wasn’t what she expected at all. “Empty?” she echoed.

“It seems Lord Ashe has left for Brigid and has a retainer and his younger siblings caring for his house. He has received blessing from His Highness to negotiate on the nation’s behalf.”

Byleth nodded, thoughts turning in her head. Of course, Ashe would go off and do something reckless and heroic.

“According to the retainer, the last correspondence was that he and his company of men were waiting for a ship to dock in former Imperial territory," the courier continued.

Byleth wrung her hands and glanced over at the umpteenth draft of the Faerghus-Brigid trade agreement. “Thank you. Please, give me the letter. It’s clearly superfluous now.”

He set it on her desk and bowed. “Is that all, my Lady?”

“You are dismissed. Please help yourself to the dining hall before you leave the monastery.”

Byleth sat in silence before taking a quill and scrawling ‘Discard’ on the letter and setting it aside.

The logical part of her said to let events play out as they were fated to. She couldn’t be everywhere, all the time, for all of her students. She wasn’t there for any of her students, really. They were gone, making their own destinies.

And yet, she needed to help. Ashe was clearly undertaking something of great importance to him that would have implications for Fódlan at large. It would affect the Church as well, if the deal were to be compromised by someone trying to get at the Fódlan representative.

It was a poor excuse, but she decided that it would be better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

She summoned one of the Knights of Seiros to her office, whoever wasn't wrapped up in other, more pressing business. She had to be quick to make sure that she could offer some support to Ashe before things became irreparable.

Since Byleth had started making an effort to actually remember the Knights who were stationed at the monastery, she actually knew Eloise when she stepped into the room. Eloise had survived one of the massacres against the Church that occurred early on in the war.

“My Lady, may I help you?”

With all the mulling over needing to help Ashe, she didn't really think of a plan of how to actually help him. She couldn't be blunt and forceful, waving the Church standard and shouldering her way into business where she didn't really belong. This required subtlety, something she wasn’t exactly good at.

“I have received word that Ashe Ubert has left the Gaspard dukedom and gone to Brigid, leaving his lands and surviving family in the hands of a retainer. Take the necessary steps to make sure that his house still stands and is in good shape when Ashe returns.”

Eloise blinked at her. “A spy, perhaps?”

“If necessary, yes.”

Ashe was no fool, but there was no guarantee that whoever he placed as head of his lands in his absence was a good, just person. Funds could be siphoned off and land and cattle sold while Ashe was none the wiser.

“We could send someone in as a farmhand to keep an eye on the land and report back to us.”

Byleth nodded. “See to it. Make sure that it is believable, so to not raise suspicions. I also want you to find the port in Imperial territory that Ashe is reportedly waiting in, if he is still there. I don't want any bitter soldiers trying to get at him.”

“We may not have enough manpower currently stationed here, but I can divert some forces from the former Imperial regions in defense of Lord Ashe," Eloise replied.

“Perfect. Send word out. I want knights en route to Gaspard territory and the Adrestian coast by end of day tomorrow.”

Eloise bowed out to organize her men and Byleth could only hope that the next time a courier came with news about Ashe, it would be for good news.

She really wasn’t surprised that this had happened. Ashe didn’t lose his idealism, even when his nightmares and his reality had him wading ankle-deep in his classmates’ blood. Ashe was meant to be a knight, not a lord of a house. Now, he may wield the title of knight and prince consort.

The idea was almost laughable if she didn't remember how Ashe had doted on Petra when they were students and during the war. Specifically, Byleth remembered Ashe sneaking through the monastery grounds, carrying a wrapped package that looked suspiciously like a sword and a single rose. Roses were so rare in the area that Byleth wondered how he had found it, much less been able to afford it.

Byleth sighed and scrawled a note to document what had just occurred. It would have been nice to have gotten some kind of notification from Fhirdiad, but she realized that she couldn't be in control of everything. Dimitri didn’t need to defer to her or notify her when he made state decisions.

She had control over herself, for the most part. She had some control over the church, but that seemed nebulous to her, even months after her appointment. Her body, her growing child, the literacy classes. That was it.

She shrugged at nothing and shoved another hunk of bread into her mouth. This was the craving stage of her pregnancy, clearly. It was bread and whatever pickled vegetables were in the dining halls. She was careful to keep the rest of her diet the same as it was before. She fed the monastery cats and dogs the food that made her feel sick or simply dumped it into the shrubs outside her door.

Not ideal, but there would be some shrewd cook or nun who would catch onto her eating habits if she was too conspicuous.

Dusting off bread crumbs, Byleth decided that she was going to at least get in front of the question that was how she was going to hide this when it became obvious. It had to be magic. There was no tailor that she could trust to mend her clothes to make any bump nearly invisible.

There were spells that could hide things from others, even hiding one’s true form. She thought of Remire Village and the forest and her stomach turned. While she didn’t want to use the same techniques as Tomas and Monica did, she had no choice. It wasn’t as drastic as what they had done, but enough to hide a bump and maybe any swelling in her feet, if the reading she had done was to be believed.

Just as finding the spell that detected pregnancy, she was having just as much difficulty finding a spell to create illusions and disguises.

There just…wasn’t a spell. There was _mention_ of a spell, in the footnotes of one of the dark magic books. It mentioned the title of the book that contained the spell, but Byleth didn't need to look to know that it was not on the library’s shelves..

After what had happened with Monica and Tomas, she was surprised that the page even mentioning the spell hadn’t been destroyed. Disguising spells of all kinds were banned to begin with, deemed sinful in the eyes of the Church.

She sighed and put the book back in the shelf.

A temporary dead-end, one that needed to be rectified soon before her pregnancy continued any further.

* * *

It shouldn’t have been so appealing to see Seteth lean against the doorframe leading into her office, arms crossed over his chest, but it was.

“Dinner?”

Byleth couldn’t help the heat that burned her cheeks at the request, as if this was anything different from all the times they had invited each other for dinner in the dining halls. But, every day that passed, she was more and more conscious of how her child grew inside of her, how it would only be a matter of time before it became apparent that she was pregnant.

Seteth either ignored the beat of hesitation or was distracted by how her hand had come up to touch his gifted pendant where it hung from her neck. She didn’t need to tell him that she wore it daily; he surely would have noticed. That fact, well, she couldn’t think about it too much.

“Very well. Let me get my coat. It’s been uncommonly cold.”

All the more padding to hide any possible bump that he could find. It was also very cold, something that she had become conscious of since coming to the monastery.

Dinner went well, to her relief. The conversation was so normal that she had almost forgotten that her entire existence was a lie at that point. She was even able to pass off why couldn’t bring herself to take even one bite of the egg that took up a third of the plate.

“It didn’t smell right,” she insisted to Seteth, who eyed her with suspicion. She changed the subject and the egg cooled, solidifying her excuse to not eat it.

When they started walking through the empty courtyards and enjoyed the evening chill and starry sky, Byleth stopped mid-sentence about a bright spot on the horizon.

“Are you okay?” Seteth asked.

She blinked at him, a chill that had nothing to do with temperature washing over her.

“I—.”

She stepped away one, two steps and vomited into the nearby bush. Dread closed over her ears. So much for keeping it hidden, but she wasn’t going to reveal her cards just yet. If she could pass this off as a one-time thing, she could keep this hidden.

“Archbishop, are you well?”

The title grated on her nerves, filling her with sudden anger.

“I’m fine. I’ve been feeling ill the past few days.”

A lie, but Seteth didn’t need to know that. Her previous months of seclusion could be attributed to her focus on transitioning into her new role. She couldn’t use that same excuse, now that bile covered the shrubs.

“You are under a lot of stress. You didn’t have much time to recover from the fight in Enbarr and your appointment as archbishop.”

It sounded more of a justification to himself than to her. It had been over a year since Enbarr. The wounds had healed from that, at least the physical ones.

She wiped her hand over her mouth. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Have you seen a healer?”

Of course, that was the obvious question, but it didn’t stop a trill of panic through her. She knew that the healers would ask, if not just perform the test as a perfunctory measure.

“No. I’ve been dealing with it myself,” she muttered.

Some part of her hoped that Seteth would drop the subject, but she knew the man well enough that it was an impossibility.

“You don’t know if it could be serious. You were exposed to injury by weapons and by magic during the war. Perhaps it is a lingering ailment.”

“I’ve ruled out most things. If you remember, I didn't get injured often.”

Another lie. She allowed herself to take the blows that would be fatal for her students. She always healed, no matter what. Sometimes, the pain lingered.

This time, she knew the truth. She knew what was causing this and why. Maybe it _was_ part of a curse in some way, but this was her child and her fate.

“If this is affecting you and your ability to lead the Church, I should be made aware of it.”

Byleth felt anger well up, the culmination of stressful days and sleepless nights. She was with child and, while surrounded by people, totally alone. She couldn't tolerate this. She wouldn’t.

“Neither my ability nor my judgment have been affected. I haven’t been late on any of my reports or neglected any of the tedious things you set on my desk.”

She knew she wasn’t doing herself any favors in fighting him, but her annoyance at the whole thing crawled its way under her skin. She didn't even want to look at him to see if her words hurt.

“Let it go, Seteth. I will be fine.”

“And if I demand you see a healer?”

She sighed, feeling very heavy. “You can demand all you want. I think I ought to be the one with the final say.”

Seteth crossed his arms over his chest.

“I must insist, _my Lady_.”

Byleth felt her lip curl. Foul taste still clung to her mouth. She wanted this conversation to end, so she could retreat and tend to her wounds and her pride. Instead, she barreled on, letting her anger take her wherever it would lead.

“Why the concern, Seteth? I do not recall you showing this much attention to my wellbeing on the battlefield.”

The muscles in his jaw jumped as he bared his teeth. “I did worry about you,” he growled, voice dropping to a whisper. “I worried about you as much as I did my own child.”

At any other time, the information would have softened her heart. It would have reminded her of her affection for the man in front of her. Instead, it just served to irritate her more.

Was that all he saw her as, a child meant to be kept after? Did he not think her capable enough to fight on her own and make her own decisions? Byleth stepped close as anger made everything clouded. It made it easy for her to forget who they were and why she liked the man so damn much.

“Believe it or not, I’m not Flayn. Stop treating me like her or you’ll end up driving me away too.”

The words escaped unchecked and she recoiled. She wished she could take them back, but, instantly, the damage was done.

Seteth’s eyes went wide with shock for a moment, hurt flashing over his features, before the shutter came down over his features. He stepped back with his face in a careful blank. Another wall built between them.

She stepped back in turn, anger exhaled from her, leaving her empty.

“I—I’m sorry. That was out of line,” Byleth murmured.

She turned away from him, glancing just enough so he could see the side of her face. She had to leave before she caused more harm.

“Good evening, Seteth.”

When he didn’t respond, she walked back to her quarters, guilt and anger roiling inside her.

This wasn’t the same way they had fought before. This felt more intensely personal. She never should’ve let Flayn’s name pass her lips. It was such a dirty move and she regretted it more than any of the other things she said.

Seteth would have every right to be upset with her and give her the cold shoulder for the foreseeable future. They would be right back to an icy, distant professionalism.

It would make lying to him a little bit easier if she pretended that she didn’t care about his feelings.

She didn’t sleep that night. Or, she did in numb, empty snatches. It was more than what she deserved, for sure.

* * *

As soon as the morning bells rang, she donned her coat and cloak and started down the road towards town.

She didn’t even leave a note, but had everything set up for her day for when she returned. She even left a pot full of water to be boiled for tea when she returned. While she felt spiteful enough to not tell Seteth, she didn’t want to insinuate that she had left her post entirely.

It was a particularly cold day, enough that she buried her chin in her handwoven scarf, a gift from Dedue. With her hood over her head, it seemed no one would be the wiser that she was anyone of importance.

She was like a ghost. Nobody knew who she was, when they couldn't see her hair and didn't look too hard at her face. She could walk and keep walking, if she wanted. She could disappear. The seeds of an idea planted in her mind, filed away to be expanded upon later. That was far into the future, but she couldn’t be so naive to not consider running. Jeralt had run away with her and for good reason. She may have to do the same.

Now, she wasn’t running. She couldn’t think too hard about that. She was miffed at Seteth and exasperated and wishing that she could continue this pregnancy without any obnoxious symptoms.

Nobody stopped her as she walked through town. While the return of the Church and relative prosperity to the region had driven away most of the bad actors that had taken root, laying low seemed to be the dominant attitude. When the people weren’t enraptured by the appearance of the Archbishop, everyone was quiet and subdued. It was so early in the morning that there were very few people outside anyway. The little café on the main road had a small crowd and that was the busiest part of the entire town at the moment.

Going to Teller was a risk. She didn’t know how much discretion she could expect from him, especially if he was already friends with Seteth. Something told her that she could trust him.

It wasn’t out of his piety, or even the respect he showed her when they first met. He had what she needed and something told her that there was enough mischief in him that he would be willing to be in on a little secret. He didn’t need to know how big of the secret it really was. He didn’t need to know about the pregnancy. He could just think that she and Seteth were having an argument, maybe a lover’s quarrel or that they were dancing around each other.

Unless she had misread him and he was indeed a gossip, it was the perfect diversion.

Teller had already opened shop minutes earlier, with the cheerful sign posted out front stating 'Open'. Through the window, she could tell that nobody had come in just yet. It was just him and a large long-haired cat seated on the counter.

She entered the shop and the bell rang cheerful to state her entrance.

“Good morning, forgive me I’m still preparing the shop for today. Can I—.” He took a full look at her face as she removed her hood and stammered to a halt.

“Ah, my Lady. Good morning. I did not expect you. I see you are not with Seteth.”

She smiled wistfully. “Unfortunately, in these circumstances, I hope that my absence from the monastery goes unnoticed.”

Understanding crossed his face. He walked around her to shut the door and turn the sign to ‘Closed’.

“There, no interruptions.”

She wanted to weep. No wonder Seteth put so much faith in him. “Thank you.”

“Shall I make you some tea, my Lady? I just brewed a pot. It’s usually slow this early in the morning so I allow myself a chance to enjoy the time before people come in.”

Byleth shook her head with a smile. Judging from how potent his blends were, she would likely be jittery and nauseous for the rest of the day.

But, she could bet that nausea would plague her no longer, if this pans out.

“No. I don't suppose I have to ask for discretion, even from Seteth.”

Teller nodded. “Of course, my Lady. However, may I ask why?”

Byleth shrugged. “He worries too much. I’m sure he would rather me be kept at Garreg Mach for the rest of my life.”

“Out of concern for your safety, I’m sure. After the treachery from the Adrestians, I am sure he worries that you will fall victim to a plot against the Church.”

She shrugged, knowing that a lot of time and energy was placed into her protection, protection she shirked every time she left the monastery grounds unattended. She had her sword under her cloak and a greater knowledge of magic, but it was different from having a vanguard or battalion by her side.

“Fair enough. But I also must ask that my reasons for coming her are also kept in confidence as well as my, ah, purchases.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

She cleared her throat, glancing around the storefront. The items displayed had changed somewhat. It was clear that the novelties had taken on an autumn-theme, though some still harkened back to the mild summer.

“I have found myself ill for the past several months and have not found any remedies. I recall you had something in your shop that would assist.”

She walked over to the front counter, where she recalled standing months ago. The bunches of herbs were still there, though some had been exchanged for more in-season types.

She found that familiar herb and held it up.

“Nausea and headaches, huh?” she wondered aloud. It had been such a long time, yet so short at the same time. Her child had been just a whisper, unknown to Byleth. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it? Should I not drink certain teas with it?”

He shook his head. “Not that I am aware of, Archbishop. It is so gentle on the system that even elderly people and pregnant woman use it.”

Byleth almost sagged at the answer. She couldn't directly ask, so she gave no reaction.

“A few leaves should do the trick, right?”

Teller nodded. “Just one, my Lady. And if you plant it in a little pot and keep it in the window, well-watered, it should continue to grow.”

She already knew where she could find soil and a pot. Victory welled up in her throat, knowing that relief was coming.

She hummed, stacking gold pieces in exchange. Her eyes wandered across the glass case. Somehow, he was able to get the lanterns and candles to shine just right on its contents. Everything seemed to sparkle with near-unnatural brightness.

One particular item, a large pin, caught her attention. It depicted gold dragon guarding the green gem. It looked so unlike what Rhea had looked like when she transformed at Garreg Mach that Byleth didn’t find herself repulsed by its design.

It was tacky and she felt so childish for immediately thinking of Seteth when she saw it. He was going to be upset with her when she returned to the monastery. This would maybe soften the blow that would be his fiery lecture on her value and security.

“How much for this?” Byleth asked.

There was a twinkle in his eye that she refused to acknowledge as he ducked behind the case and plucked it from the display.

He set it in her offered hand. Up close, the detailing in the serpent’s body and how the green gem was cut were both so delicate and appealing. Even the pin in the back was solid enough to keep the weight of it from ripping off of a coat lapel.

“For you, my Lady? No charge.” He almost sounded smug, but he surely didn’t know the significance of it, not truly.

Byleth set another gold piece on the stack with a disbelieving glance. She needed to change the subject before someone tried to enter the shop or she simply overstayed her welcome.

“Teller, I have one thing to ask of you. Do you have the ability to seek out rare books?”

Teller recoiled in feigned shock. “What kind of purveyor do you think I am? Of course, I do!”

Byleth allowed a smile. Seteth did her a favor in introducing him to her, for sure.

“There is a book that I cannot find in the library at Garreg Mach. I know the title, only because it is referenced in other books.”

Teller nodded thoughtfully. “Seteth censors the library, as I understand it.”

“It is of darker magics, but I taught my own students dark magic during their time in the Officers’ Academy.”

Teller nodded.

“Give me the name, my Lady, and I shall find it for you.”

He rummaged through one of the drawers behind the counter and set a notebook in front of her. She scrawled out the title, adding a couple of question marks for the author’s name.

“I am afraid it might be a bit of a wild goose chase,” Byleth murmured.

Teller grinned. “Oh, on the contrary. I have a few contacts who may have be able to provide. Of course, if you could provide your own discretion regarding this.”

It felt like a conspiracy, however small that it was. Teller didn’t know the whole truth of why she needed anything from him, but Byleth didn’t know who his seller was.

“I suspect that Seteth will try to intercept the book if you have it sent to the monastery.”

Teller winked. “I have a way to get him off of the scent.”

Byleth collected the herb bundle and pin, thanking Teller before starting towards the door. The longer she lingered, the more questions he could ask, the more likely Seteth would send the calvary after her.

“Also, there is one thing,” he called out to her retreating back.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I recognize that lovely necklace you are wearing.”

Embarrassment threatened to set her face aflame. Despite her anger, she still wore Seteth’s gift. She couldn’t bear to take it off.

“One of yours?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Indeed. It had been a long time since it changed hands, but I remember the man who bought it.”

She bit her lip and glanced at the floor. An answer they both knew.

“Seteth.”

“Indeed.”

“When did he get it?”

It was a foolish question and she really didn’t need to know the answer but, she still needed to ask. How long had it been? Was it before the war? During? After? While she slept at the bottom of a cliff, him believing her dead?

“Many moons ago, my Lady, during the war. I believe you and His Highness were occupying Garreg Mach as your base at the time.”

Knowing that...didn’t make her feel any better. He had the pendant in his possession when she offered her only token worth giving? Had he bought it with her in mind, never having the courage to give it to her until her birthday? What had changed?

* * *

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when she saw three calvary charging down the hill. Their armor, that of the Knights of Seiros, shined dully in morning light.

Byleth thought to let them pass, but she could imagine what kind of harassment they could deal to the townspeople if they were looking for her. She pulled back her hood, allowing her tell-tale hair free.

“Stop!” Byleth called out.

It was a stupid thing to do to not get out of the way, but it was clear that something worked as the distance between her and the calvary got smaller and smaller.

The cavalry shuffled to a startled halt at the sound of her order.

“My Lady!”

Byleth held herself firm, watching the horses shift as their riders kept them still.

“What is the meaning of this?” Byleth asked.

The exchange of astonished expressions was almost comical to watch. “Advisor Seteth was sending us to find you,” the leader sputtered. “He said you had gone missing.”

Byleth cringed. Just hearing it made her feel guilty. She knew how much it bothered him, and she still did it. Did he really deserve it as consequence for overstepping the night before?

“I see. Well, I was just returning to the monastery.”

“Ah, of course. Do you—do you want us to escort you back?”

She looked past them to see the uphill climb that she would face. Weighing that, her inevitable nausea for riding on a horse, and the optics of her refusing the ride, she steeled herself.

“Very well.”

She took the offered hand and swung herself over the horse, planting herself behind the captain.

As they turned and started towards the monastery, her stomach immediately turned. Byleth breathed a curse, glad that the knight's helmet would likely make her deaf to what Byleth would whisper.

The wind roared in her ears and the world was too bright again.

Before she could thoroughly lament at what poor timing this was, she jerked when there was the sound of galloping behind the trio of knights.

A horse rode past them, the people in the saddle staring forward, unaware of the knights in the road.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

She recognized the shock of yellow-blond hair, the rugged frame.

Her father, looking younger and more carefree than she had ever known him to be, passed by her without a word. The person seated behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, had her face hidden from Byleth. She could only see the curtain of dark-green hair and slim figure.

Byleth watched, struggling to find words or reason for such a vision.

The two phantoms were silent and then Jeralt urged the horse forward. The woman screeched as the horse started forward with a faster pace.

_Jeralt, slow down! I’m going to get sick!_

The knights gave no indication that someone had passed them, so she knew that it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Jeralt was dead. And that woman. Somehow, Byleth knew her. She didn't quite know how, but she did. She wished that she had Jeralt by her side. Sure, he would have been upset with her for these events happening in the first place, but she knew he would have protected her no matter what.

Her eyes stung. She told herself it was the dust the horses were kicking up.

When they arrived at the monastery, the merchants in the square gawked at her as she dismounted from the horse.

After giving a short thank-you to her escort, she made the tentative journey towards her quarters. As she got closer, something told her that Seteth was going to be waiting in her office for her. Just before reaching the front door, she ducked behind a pillar and took out the herb that she went through so much trouble in getting.

She plucked off a leaf and chewed it. She screwed her face in disgust at the bitter pulp it created, but she managed to swallow it.

Stifling chills at the foul taste, she finally stepped into her office to see Seteth staring at a cold, empty fireplace.

For a moment, he didn’t even acknowledge her entrance. Instead, he ducked down and set a fire.

“You left again. I had half a mind to get my wyvern and search for you personally.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, watching his profile.

He grimaced. “Bad optics.”

Optics, indeed. Maybe he was still upset with her from last night and was willing to let whatever fate befall her while she was away from the safety of the monastery walls.

‘ _Safety_ ’, the same safety that allowed Jeralt to die, allow Edelgard to destroy everything.

“Please accept my apologies for abandoning my post.”

“I must admit, I do not accept is so readily, especially since it has been mere weeks since you ran off to fight bandits.”

A predictable reaction to her apology, but it still stung like a slap to the face. She wanted to shrink at his gaze like a chastised child but she had to keep her spine straight. She carried a child inside of her. Everything she did was now secondary to making sure that it was safe. That also meant protecting herself. She needed to do everything she could to keep this secret from the world.

“That is all I can offer you,” she said with a shrug.

His expression pinched in anger. “What were you doing? What were you thinking of leaving again without at least notifying me?”

“I was angry with you. I thought that much was obvious.”

“Your feelings about me shouldn’t override your own safety,” he said.

“I’m stubborn. That much should be obvious as well.”

Seteth looked into her face for a beat before glancing away and muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

She stuck her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out the pin.

“Not to distract from the topic on hand, I found this and I wanted you to have it.”

It was definitely a distraction, but it burned a hole in her pocket since she had gotten it. She held it out in her hand, feeling strangely vulnerable. The last time she had given him a gift like this, they were about to walk into a battle where their odds were poor and death was likely imminent.

Why was he looking at her with such suspicion?

Time seemed to hang still. Finally, he took it from her hand and stared at it in silence.

“I saw it and I thought of you,” she said lamely.

He stared at it for what felt like a long time before he looked at her.

“Where did you get this?”

There was little for her to gain from lying to him about where she bought the gift. He just couldn't know the full reason why she visited.

“While I was out, I wanted to visit our old friend.”

“You went to see Teller?”

“I went to take a walk around town, but I ended up visiting, yes.”

Whatever feigned nonchalance she tried to put into her voice clearly didn’t work, if the continued stare from Seteth told her anything. She was usually so good at hiding herself.

Hormones, she reminded herself. She almost broke down crying at the hallucination of her dead father and a strange woman just minutes earlier.

“It is also me apologizing for what I said last night. I shouldn’t have brought up Flayn, no matter what. It was out of line and you have every right to be upset about that.”

Seteth stiffened at the mention of it. “I am less upset about your words than about your actions.”

She sighed and stepped closer to the fire. She could feel the warmth from the growing flames thawing her stiff joints. That also brought her closer to him, which brought its own different kind of warmth.

“I do not wish to fight with you, Seteth. You know that you are my greatest ally. I would even go as far as to call you my greatest friend, as well.”

The confession felt heavy on her tongue. She lied and lied, about her true intentions, about her health, about how much she truly cared for him.

He stared at her with an expression that could only be described as pained. “Why do you not treat me as such? To do these things behind my back, making me worry, I simply cannot reconcile that.”

She crumpled a little at how forlorn and beaten he sounded. She needed to be kinder to him, while she still could.

“This has nothing to do with you or wanting to get at you or anything. It’s all...me,” she stopped.

She should tell him. Everything would be clear to him and he would understand. then, she remembered her father and how he didn’t trust Rhea, even to the last day. There had to be a reason then, and she knew that he wouldn’t trust Rhea or anyone connected to her. She would bet anything that Seteth was in contact with Rhea in her retirement. She couldn’t know for sure that he wouldn’t tell her immediately.

“I don’t want to live the rest of my days cooped up in here. I need to be able to step out every so often. At this point, I’ve gotten it out of my system.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was true. She couldn't risk herself by going out again, not with her growing child.

“Are you sure? And your illness?” Seteth pushed, staring down at her, looking for a lie.

She shook her head, hoping that he could find some truth in her words. “It was a one-time thing. I’m okay, Seteth. Believe me.”

She found it too easy to smile at him, offering another olive branch towards him.

It took him a moment before he returned the smile and the sudden happiness ballooned in her chest. She wanted to weep from relief, though she cursed her hormones.

“I suppose you weren’t too upset with me about last night. I see you are still wearing my gift to you.”

She glanced down in reflex to the pendant resting on her chest.

“Ah, I guess you’re right, but I wouldn’t take off this gift, even if I was upset with you.”

She really shouldn’t have said that aloud, but the blush that bloomed across Seteth's face, chasing away any of the lingering anger, was definitely worth the sudden exposed feeling that made her want to run and lock herself in her bedroom.

“I'm,” he paused to clear his throat. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened. She never left the monastery and they never fought. It felt good, though she knew that her growing child would be a point of conflict, even if Seteth never knew.

She couldn’t even ask him why he gave her the pendant, even as the pause lengthened. The implications of it were too great and he seemed fine with keeping them unsaid. She wanted to know, any yet...

Seteth cleared his throat again, taking half a step away from her. Respectful, professional distance.

“I’m assuming you have received word about Ashe's expedition to Brigid. Rather convenient that he and the Brigid princess showed such affection during the wartime, isn’t it?”

She sighed and nodded.

“Indeed, very convenient.”

Back to business. It was truly as if nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


	11. Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [There's art now that I had commissioned! Check it out!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts/status/1260801893741105152?s=20)  
> Thank you so much for all the feedback from the last chapter!  
> Unfortunately, I have to announce that I will be taking a hiatus on this story until likely the beginning of August. The stresses of life are getting to me and I need to step back and…consume content instead of relentlessly making it.  
> Enjoy!

She had to wait for the book, longer than she liked.

Autumn had fallen, as had the temperature. It meant that she could layer more clothes and conceal her form a little longer. She knew it was a temporary fix. Every day that passed brought her closer to the time when she would need a disguising spell.

Teller hadn’t sent word if he had found the book or if he hadn’t. Perhaps he knew there was risk that the communication would be intercepted.

To distract herself, also in some strangely overwhelming sense of motherly domesticity, she found herself in the kitchens after hours. It was also because she was often struck by random hunger pangs in the middle of the night that would keep her from sleeping. While she was pretty sure that nobody knew that she was coming in and out of there, she was careful in using as little ingredients as possible. She ate most of her creations as soon as they were cooled from the ovens and cleaned everything before leaving.

Whenever she had a particular urge to eat something that wasn’t overly sweet, she would make the batch just a little bigger so she could gift some to Seteth the following day. That always made him smile and it made butterflies flutter in her stomach in a good way, contrasting from the roiling anxiety that followed her wherever she went. It was like walking on eggshells, always. The child was growing inside of her, day by day.

Byleth couldn’t examine if that strange phenomenon in the bandit's hideout came from her or from her child. There wasn’t exactly anyone she could ask. Sothis could turn back time. Now that the power was locked away from Byleth, did the ability to slow down time replace it? There wasn’t any way for her to tap into that power to test it. It was far from her grasp, like a reflex that she couldn’t make herself do with conscious thought.

Not that she could think too much about it. She was too busy stuffing her face with whatever creation came from the kitchens that day. Someone had gotten creative with some fried dough and spiced apples and she could not stop eating them.

It was clear the cooks caught onto that when a covered basket appeared next to her breakfast. Byleth was certain that the basket full of the treats left for her was meant to last her through the week, she found herself halfway through within hours.

She liked it, and, apparently, her child seemed to like it.

Would her child have the same lack of food preferences as her? Her students weren’t picky, but there were some would couldn’t handle sweet or handle spice or wild gamey meat. Byleth ate everything put in front of her to the benefit of the students she dined with. They all seemed to be happy when they had their favorite foods servers in the dining hall.

She tried to imagine a little green-haired child seated in a little chair at the dining table. A child, with a spoon in their fist and food mashed across their mouth. Byleth would have to reach over to wipe off the mess with a napkin and teach her child the intricacies of using utensils.

She didn't think to refer to her child as a boy or a girl just yet, though her visions were always that of a little girl. It wasn’t certain, as nothing about this whole situation was for certain at all. Her child still lived and grew inside of her and that child would be loved. That was all that really mattered. Her child would be loved and safe. Her child would be given the security and softness that she was deprived of. While there would be few children in the monastery to make friends with, her child would have as normal a life as possible.

She tried her best to focus on her work. While all of these things were changing for her, there were many things that still remained constant. There were the meetings and ceremonies to attend. The missives from Almyra and Brigid and Fhirdiad still piled up. The budget still needed to be balanced, though it was always a doomed cause no matter how many times she looked at the numbers.

And yet, her mind wandered to the future. There was enough space in her residence to have a crib, even a second bed once the child grew big enough. She would need to put the Sword of the Creator somewhere a toddler wouldn’t be able to reach. At some point, she would need to get stuffies, wooden blocks, and bells. She still needed to get a crib, for Sothis’ sake.

How could she obtain such things, when no one was to know of her pregnancy? Children’s toys would be easy to hide, but not a crib. There was no way to explain away a crib if it was just set in her room. A crying baby wasn’t something she could hide either. While she would steep herself in secrecy before the child was born, she knew that she would not allow herself to feel shame after the birth. Her child did not deserve a mother who was ashamed of their existence.

She would nestle her child to her chest as she walked the halls of the monastery. She would carry her child in one arm, a prayer book in the other during ceremonies. If the clergy had a problem with it, they would be welcome to leave.

Her child was the child of miracles.

And Byleth still didn’t know the first thing about being a mother. She needed to find more books about that. While easier to find than a dark magic book, it would be a shining beacon that something was happening behind the walls of Garreg Mach. There were some books in the library that would suit her needs, but that would be something to obtain in the dead of night where no one would see her.

She had barely figured out how to take care of herself outside of the bare minimum only a few years earlier. Children needed to be held. What little research she had done had told her that much. Children, babies especially, needed to be held with gentle arms. They also needed nourishment and shelter and a place to feel safe. 

Byleth wasn't sure that the monastery would be safe for them. It was a painful thought, but one that sat in the back of her mind. Safety, above all.

* * *

Another bout of sleeplessness had Byleth wandering through the monastery ground right at dawn. She had bundled herself with a coat and took pleasure in the birdsong as the world slowly awoke.

Teller's herb worked like a charm, chasing away her nausea, allowing her to walk the halls without fear. She could eat for two without anything getting in her way.

Eventually, she found herself at the cathedral doors, staring up at the huge wooden doors. The notion of turning around and returning to the main monastery grounds crossed her mind before she decided that her feet carried her there for a reason.

The cathedral doors creaked as they swung open. In the early hours, the place felt almost foreign to her, as if she hadn’t presided over a ceremony mere days earlier. There were no clergy saying their prayers or groundskeepers tending to the pews and statues. It was just her and the light that filtered from the many windows. She didn't even have her hallucinations to keep her company.

Her soft shoes gave little noise as she walked down the center aisle.

This was her domain, yet she was still a stranger. Everything about the monastery felt like there was something hidden in the shadows. There had to be hidden passageways and catacombs that she was unaware of. Seteth hadn’t told her everything. It was just a pity that she was stifled by fear for her safety and that of her child to go searching. She already knew the consequences of poking around where she didn’t belong, finding the Shield of Seiros being a case in point. The ghosts and the automatons in that crypt nearly killed her and her students.

While the similar curses that surely been lifted from other places in the monastery, she couldn’t be certain that Rhea hadn’t had other heavily guarded places hidden somewhere no one could find them.

The cathedral was safe, in its marble glory. She could imagine the hymns echoing through the space, sending chills down her spine.

She bypassed the altar, turning left to one of the nearby alcoves. In the pre-dawn light, the gilded statues of the Saints looked almost intimidating where they stood. She had helped in restoring the statues, painstaking work that continued through the war until almost to its end. Of course, she had put so much time into these statues, only for them to offer nothing in return.

“Children of the Goddess,” she breathed.

Byleth wondered how much of that was true. Some of the older translations of Church documents referred to them as such. Would her child be like them? Was _she_ like them?

She couldn’t count herself as being amongst the holy. She had too much blood on her hands from her times as a mercenary, a professor, and a warrior. Even now, with her sword put away, a perpetual lie wasn’t exactly a righteous way to live.

Maybe, when she will eventually give birth, it will be heralded as a holy day. Hymns would sound through the cathedral halls. It was easy for the Saints to be celebrated, since they were either long dead or allowed to disappear into obscurity. Even as she thought it, she knew it was an impossibility that her child would be venerated like that. While she was the Goddess’s chosen, nobody knew of her true nature. Nobody could know. Nobody could know her child’s true origins either, which was something she still couldn’t figure out. It would be hard to weave together a believable lie if she didn’t know the whole truth.

She stepped closer to the statue of Saint Cichol and absentmindedly stroked her fingers over the engraving on the plaque. The statue stared down at her with what felt like righteous judgment, which she deserved.

“Born from the Goddess’s blood, molded by Her hands,” she said, the words coming almost unbidden.

She sighed. The thought of taking a nap in one of the pews was tempting, though she could only imagine the teasing she would get if someone were to find her slumped over, asleep.

A quiet _creak_ had her whipping around, fast enough that she felt lightheaded and stars danced in her vision. Byleth staggered back as realization trickled in, hand reaching to her side for a sword that wasn’t there.

Four figures stood before her in absolute silence. She already knew who they were. In the pale light, she could see tell-tale green hair.

The Saints had come to visit her.

Thick, black veils draped over their faces, hiding the rest of their features from her. They were almost indistinguishable from each other, though the shortest one clearly had to be Saint Cethleann. Immediately, questions came to Byleth's mind. She wondered if they had lived in that city in the Red Canyon. Surely, they had survived the horrible fate that befell it. They were not celebrated as martyrs as some other ancient Church figures were.

“Why have you appeared before me? Are you going to impart some knowledge? Frighten me to a different path?” she asked rhetorically.

Her hand rested protectively over her stomach, as if she would be any danger from these wraiths.

They were silent, unmoving. Useless to her, if her questions would only go unanswered.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she spat.

Did she have any authority over these beings, if they were capable to doing anything besides standing menacingly around her?

She wanted to be angry. The scriptures of the Church were often so vague when it came to history. While she was sure that was for keeping canon straight and avoiding confusion that could lead to fracturing of belief, it was so frustrating. She couldn’t piece anything together from half-truths and innuendo in books that were hundreds of years old.

What happened at the Red Canyon? Who were the Children of the Goddess and did any of them still exist? Why did this happen to her, from the very beginning of her life until now?

Why?

It tinted her vision red, the anger from it all. Her life, her child's life, could hang in the balance of these secrets and nobody could tell her anything and she didn't have the courage to step out and find the truth.

“Show your face!” she yelled, lunging forward at the nearest figure and grabbing a handful of black fabric.

It evaporated into nothingness, the figures dashed away like dust in a windstorm, but her cry echoed through the cathedral halls.

“Who’s there?”

A trembling voice answered hers.

The spell had broken and the reality of where she was clamored back into place. She wasn’t alone.

Tentatively, she peeked out from the room into the cathedral hall to see a solitary figure frozen as it stood in the aisle.

“I see you there. Come out.”

There was a lot of bravery in her words, but Byleth could easily hear the fear as well.

“My apologies,” Byleth said, stepping out from the shadows.

The young woman, dressed in her habit, stood wide-eyed, hands up in defense as if to summon magic to defend herself.

Byleth nodded in deference. “My apologies for startling you. I was just…getting ready for my morning prayer.”

Before she could even think about how bad of a lie that was, the young nun visibly brightened and nun shook her head. “Not at all, my Lady. I consider myself blessed to have met you. Would you mind if I prayed with you?”

Byleth internally sighed, dashing her hopes of a quick exit. There was no getting away from this tacitly, was there?

“Very well. What is your name?” Byleth asked.

“Caroline, my Lady.”

Byleth nodded with a small smile. “Caroline. Pick a seat and I shall pray with you.”

The young woman slid into one of the pews and Byleth followed.

Caroline’s face was scrunched in concentration, taking no time to ask questions to her companion.

Byleth leaned back into the seat and shut her eyes. All around her, the monastery came to life. It was time for the living, not the dead like those cold statues. There was no reason for her to look. Her child grew and that was unstoppable. The time for answers about the Saints, the Children of the Goddess, would come later.

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to at least make an attempt at prayer to ease her conscience for lying to the nun seated next to her. Byleth was good at reciting prayers in the books for ceremonies. She wasn’t that great at praying on her own without guidance. Knowing that the Goddess was inside of her and also not at the same time didn’t help things either.

She bowed her head.

She could pray to her body that it would protect her growing child. It seemed only right, albeit sacrilegious. Her child would live. That had to be fact, not reliant on faith or the whim of a goddess who had gone silent. Her child had to live. Answers would come, one way or another. Out of Rhea's mouth, Seteth's, or from some sort of knowledge buried deep inside of her.

Later. That would come later.

In the meantime, she rested in the pew and played pretend.

* * *

The month crept on, leaving Byleth in a nervous state. Teller had sent a cryptic message to her earlier in the week, telling her to expect a surprise soon. She didn’t know how soon, but the wax seal on the note hadn’t been broken so she knew that Teller's impending delivery was known only to her.

Despite the warning, it didn’t stop Byleth from nearly jumping out of her skin when an unfamiliar knock sounded at her door. Over time, she had figured how certain people approached her door. While it initially had been observations and patterns made in passing, a guessing game she could amuse herself with where she was always the winner, it served her well when she knew she couldn’t have unnecessary visitors who could discover her secrets.

Seteth, most of the senior clergy, and the dining staff would approach with quick, business-like knocks. Everyone else would tap meekly at the door, as if afraid of disturbing her. This was somewhere in between and enough to put her on edge. Outside couriers were often stopped before they could even step into the monastery. Unless the guard decided to get lax all of a sudden, there was no reason why someone from outside the monastery would be at her door.

Byleth didn’t call them in, instead she walked to the front of her house and opened the door.

“May I help you?” Byleth asked. She blinked as it was not truly a stranger, but Teller himself on her doorstep.

“Oh. Teller, what are you doing here?” she sputtered. “Please come in.”

She backed up just enough so he could step into the threshold.

“Good afternoon, my Lady,” he greeted with a deep bow. “As you must understand, I had an errand to run for our good friend Seteth and wanted to pay my respects.”

As he said it, he pulled a wrapped package from his coat, leaving no question of the hidden meaning behind his words.

Teller winked at her before placing the wrapped package in her hands.

“Your book, my Lady. I dropped some things for Seteth as well.”

She nodded. Of course, there had to be a decoy. Why else would Teller be here, but to present something to Seteth, his old friend? Byleth could never be implicated in such a thing.

“Now, I will take my leave, before my presence is noted.”

He bowed before turning.

“Thank you, Teller. I owe you a debt for this," Byleth sighed.

“Not at all, my Lady. However,” he paused, glancing back to look at her. “I don’t know what you are doing with the book. I can only pray that what you are doing is what’s best for Fódlan and for the Church.”

She swallowed and smiled a confident smile at his back as the door closed.

It was for herself and her child, more than anything else. Indirectly, it was for the stability of the Church as well.

As was with the illicit spell that detected her pregnancy, she retreated to her bedroom and looked for the particular spell that she went through so much trouble to find.

It seemed like the purpose was documenting various ways to trick, rob, and murder people in creative ways. The descriptions were horrifying enough as they were and the diagrams that accompanied some of the more gruesome spells only added to it.

When she turned to a page of various body types and faces, all in various states of change, she knew she had found the right spell. The disguise spell was potent, if it was able to shield demonic forms from human eyes. It sent a chill down her spine to know that the same spell had come from the lips of the people who took Jeralt from her.

Means to an end. She repeated that truth to herself as she went over the technique.

A large part of it was imagining in her mind what she wanted the transformation to look like. Not a thing could be neglected or it would look like a disguise to the point of ridiculous obviousness. For her purposes, it wasn’t difficult to imagine. She just needed to have her current body shape kept as a static, albeit was a slightly flatter stomach.

Duplicity and hiding one's true self were both considered major sins in the Church. Did it really count as a sin if the Archbishop, the successor of the Goddess in the physical world, was the one committing it? She supposed she could go into that theological quandary later.

She swallowed in nervousness and cast the spell. Chills trickled down her spine as the faint milieu of magic settled over her skin.

Something that definitely happened, but looking into the mirror, she couldn’t see much change. Maybe her stomach did look a little flatter? She supposed when she got further into her pregnancy, she would see the efficacy of the spell. At the moment, she looked exactly the same as she did before she performed the spell and that was what mattered in the end.

If it did work, she had successfully hidden the two most outward signs of her pregnancy. The herb did its work in tamping down her nausea and, for now, the other signs of pregnancy hadn’t reared their heads yet.

Now, she could walk freely around the monastery without fear of discovery. She could have her meetings with Seteth with only guilt to deal with, leaving fear behind.

This was a victory, one that buoyed her for the rest of the day, even to the first true test: meeting with Seteth. While he never revealed any real proficiency in magic, she couldn’t help but be a bit apprehensive. He didn’t sense Tomas’s disguise in the months that they worked together. Byleth would be no different.

Her instincts were correct, as there was nothing but a smile in greeting and a split-second glance at the pendant on her neck when she approached his office. It felt freeing to walk into his office without feeling like the lie was painted across her body. She could move about the world the same way she did before the Rite of Rebirth, before any of this had ever happened.

She smoothed out her skirt before sitting at her usual spot. Seteth seemed uncharacteristically unprepared for the visit, with things strewn across his desk, mostly papers and books.

“Give me a moment to clean up. Time had gotten away from me.”

“Of course,” she replied.

As she said it, she leaned forward to guess at what he was working on. It didn’t seem particularly Church-related. One thing caught her eye amongst the clutter. She recognized the wrappings and the twine set in the center of his desk. They were the same kind that she had seen only hours earlier.

“What’s that?” she asked innocently.

He pushed away the paper that had flapped over the gift, revealed a bound book with a gold-leaf in the spine, confirming her suspicions.

“Our friend Teller had been by to visit. He said he had found this at some run-down shop in western Fódlan and knew that I would want it.”

He handed it to her and she gently turned it over. The book cover and bindings were almost identical to the book Teller had given her. Teller was a genius. He must have taken one of the books and rebound it to mimic the other.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A first-edition collection of fables from Fhirdiad," Seteth said. His eyes cut between the book at her face, not fully resting on either of them. "Most of the revised versions have bastardized some of the most famous stories.”

“I didn’t know you liked fables.”

Byleth recalled one of the men in her father’s company telling fables around the fire, to the chagrin of his bored audience. Byleth didn’t absorb much of it, as was most thing at that time in her life.

She didn't know that fables were a thing that people actively _liked_.

She must have said that aloud, if the sudden embarrassment on Seteth’s face told her anything. He glanced away and mumbled, “I also like to write my own, on occasion.”

The sudden, horrible, wonderful vision of a green-haired child seated in Seteth’s lap as he read a story made her knees go weak. A fantasy, an impossibility.

“Do you?” she asked, wincing as her voice cracked.

“It’s a rather calming hobby and I... suppose I have an active mind in my age.”

She didn’t like how he made himself sound ancient, as if he didn’t look a day over thirty-five years old.

“A lot of lessons to give?” she teased.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “It is easy to tell our flock to do this and do that, but it is difficult to give those same lessons in way that isn’t a dry lecture that even young children can understand.”

That was something that some of the priests that presided over services needed to learn. Their sermons were so long-winded and boring that she would see some attendees sigh while entering the cathedral when they see who is to give the principle reading and sermon.

“Are you drafting something that teaches the Archbishop to keep her in her office and not gallivanting across Fódlan?” Byleth asked airily.

“While I don’t usually take requests, I can make an exception for you. A headstrong, powerful lioness who got into some trouble because she was looking after her cubs?”

There was plenty of wartime propaganda with the same theme. Artists in support of Faerghus would paint lions with pale green manes charging in front of the Kingdom's army. The popularity of those images could almost rival that of the Dimitri's image painted in victory during the sieges at Fhirdiad and Enbarr.

“I would think a bear would be better analogy,” she replied. “What is the saying? The space between a mother bear and her cub is the most dangerous place in the world?”

Seteth hummed. “Seems like a wise saying to heed.”

He wouldn’t stand between her and her child. He was a father himself and he knew the pain of having his child in danger. He would sympathize.

“I suppose if I were to have a child, I would do anything to protect them.” Byleth made a circle with her arms, mimicking a heavily-pregnant belly. “Could you imagine?” she asked, feeling strangely hysterical. “Me, a mother?”

He watched her for what seemed like an eternity.

“I think you would be a good mother, rivalling a mother bear in protectiveness and a scholar in ability to teach your child about the world.”

She almost jerked in shock, dumbfounded by the earnest answer. He was likely indulging in the fantasy she had put forth, though it was reality.

“Oh.”

“All children are miracles from the Goddess.” Seteth paused and shook his head. “But, those are thoughts that you should have when things have settled, if you are truly considering it. You are still learning the responsibilities of being Archbishop. Motherhood would not suit you in a time like this.”

Any affection evaporated instantly, replaced with dread.

“I see.”

It felt like an insult, though she was sure Seteth didn't mean it as one. He didn't think she would be ready for motherhood. He thought her too inexperienced, too naïve for such a thing. Too late for his advice, as if his words would have stopped the events from unfolding as they did.

Her child would be born in the coming months, whether she was ready for it or not.

“Now is not the time to think of such things," Seteth sighed. "Romance, motherhood, all distractions. Though, your children would be strong, when they do come into the world.”

Strangely, the words sounded like they were directed at himself, not at her.

“I know that Flayn inherited her strength from you,” she offered, feeling the sudden need to direct the conversation elsewhere, away from her.

Now, it was Seteth's turn to blush. “I have tried to protect Flayn from the harshness of the world. We have fought through two wars that both nearly destroyed Fódlan, so I have failed in that regard.”

“You both lived, didn’t you? That should be what matters.”

“We lived, yes. However, we had lost much.”

They started their meeting after that, but everything seemed subdued and distracted. Byleth couldn’t stop thinking about her child.

Her child would not know loss as she did, or as Seteth did. She would run, if war came to threaten her and her child. The warriors of Fódlan had grown and would be able to fight in her stead.

What Seteth thought, when his eyes got distant or when he fixed her with lingering glances, she didn’t know. She didn’t dare ask.

She danced a fine line with him, even as she expertly hid herself. There was a chance for a slip, for an upwelling of emotion that would reveal her secret. She couldn’t turn back time if she told him.

“Byleth?”

The use of her name had her stiffening. It rang true in her ears, a collection of syllables that sounded wonderful coming out of his mouth. There were very few people ever called her by her name and she was glad to count him as one of them.

“Yes, Seteth?”

He looked her over before shaking his head.

“It’s nothing.”

She didn’t believe him.

“Is something wrong? Did I miss something in one of the reports?”

She squinted at the copy she was perusing before pausing when Seteth sighed.

“No, not at all. I was just thinking about the future.”

“The future,” Byleth echoed, ignoring how her blood ran a little cold. “What about it?”

There were many things he could be referring to. There were ceremonies, the change of the season and all of the complications that came with it. There was Flayn and the state of Fódlan itself and a hundred other things.

“One day, true peace will come to Fódlan. The fires will be put out. The lords and ladies will be able to tend to their lands unaided. The Academy will reopen, eventually. I wonder what will become of us by that time.”

She smiled softly. “I think I will still be Archbishop, and you, my advisor.”

Her hands twitched by her side, knowing that by that time that they could truly say that Fódlan was at peace, her child would have been born into the world and changed everything.

“Good,” Seteth said, a little too loudly for the small space. He cleared his throat as Byleth watched various emotions shuffle across his face.

“Good,” he repeated, more softly this time. “I was thinking the same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seteth needs to get his head out his ass. Is he gonna do that any time soon? Eh….  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays.  
> Again, hiatus, will be working on this story but I won’t be posting until August.  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baaaaaaaaack! Taking a break was definitely refreshing…and took a lot longer than I anticipated :D Unfortunately, still haven’t done a ton of writing for this story since I only have really 1-3 days a week where I have the energy to do any writing. Please be patient with future updates but I am determined to get this fic finished!!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and kudosed this fic in the meantime!  
> Enjoy!

Time trickled on, past the Red Wolf Moon to the Ethereal Moon. Winter had come in full-force to Fódlan, and it was one of the colder winters in recent memory, according to everyone in the monastery.

Byleth found herself particularly affected by the cold, needing to keep a fire burning in her quarters at all times and bundle up whenever she stepped out. While she didn’t suddenly get the urge to hand-make clothes during her free time, the local shops were more than happy to fulfill her commissions for gloves and scarves.

No one dared comment if she looked ridiculous wandering down the halls, not that she would have cared if they did.

Byleth’s cravings had fully landed on pickled vegetables of all sorts, to the point that she had taken fully jars of the stuff from the dining hall’s stores to keep in her quarters. Nobody questioned it, since it was getting cold enough that it made sense for her to try to avoid unnecessary trips out of her quarters.

Whenever she did venture out, her disguise spell was a necessity. The bump was definitely getting prominent, enough that she could not get away with calling it weight gain if someone were to catch her with the disguise lifted.

She liked to rest her hand over it and pretend that she could feel her child sleeping there. Seeing the bump made it all real. Her child was alive and growing. She could even feel it kick on occasion, startling her as she worked or when she was in the middle of meetings. She was always quick to hide it and excuse it.

As the days dragged on, her former students sent her gifts, in a strange reversal on how she had given her students books and items that would improve their training or simply make them happy.

Annette sent a tin full of homemade shortbread, along with an apologetic note that she hadn’t responded sooner. Felix had been right; Annette was struggling from her injuries. It wasn’t life-threatening, but enough to be crippling and painful during her everyday life.

Byleth couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty that she didn’t try to reach out sooner with a follow-up letter. If she had known that things were that bad, she would have gone to Annette’s family home to provide some company and comfort. Even as she considered it, she knew part of the guilt was because she didn’t protect Annette from the injuries in the first place.

It was clear Annette was trying to keep an optimistic tone, trying to keep Byleth from worrying. She mentioned Sylvain and Felix visiting her every few months to keep her company, staying for weeks at a time to her family’s chagrin. Byleth tried not to read too far into it.

Mercedes had returned her letter, gushing over the good work she was doing at her orphanage. There over a dozen children so far, taking in where the more-established orphanages could not. They were sweet, scared, angry, all things that Mercedes could handle.

The other half of the letter was spent talking about Marianne, about reading in the garden at the orphanage, how Marianne had taken up the hobby of woodcarving.

_I must have her make you something, Professor! She makes the loveliest little wooden birds!_

Enclosed with the letter was a drawing.

Mercedes and Marianne sat side by side, slightly turned in towards each other. Mercedes smiled brightly at the artist, while Marianne was a bit more subdued, as if shy, but still happy. From the way they were posed, Byleth was surprised that they weren’t touching hands like a portrait of lovers.

Byleth couldn’t help but grin and touched her finger over the artist's name signed at the edge of the drawing.

It was truly the Goddess’s blessing that Ignatz had survived the war.

Byleth would have replied to all of her students, if there wasn’t so much to do. As the beginning of the new year approached, budgets fell on her desk, copies from both the Church and from Fhirdiad.

The sacking of Enbarr’s palace and Empire-allied territories allowed for some leeway now that things had been itemized and evaluated, but tax income had trickled almost to zero as none of the common folk were able to pay even if taxes were levied on them.

Just about everything in the tentative year’s budget had been prepared for famine, blight, plague. There was little room for hope a large push for recovery plans. Some towns and structures would be able to make headway in infrastructure plans but the focus had to be keeping the people alive more than anything else.

Another point of contention was the continuing mending of relations with the surrounding regions. Almyra was their best foothold, with Claude as liaison. Brigid was still tenuous and slow to anything moving along.

Sreng would be the most difficult to negotiate, something that Sylvain now put most of his energy into now that the bandits were destroyed. The two peoples had been in skirmishes for the past several hundred years, making any start to possible peace nearly impossible.

Luckily, Sylvain was charmingly diplomatic when he wanted to be and spoke the native language of the region.

It was another front that was going to take years to find any progress, but a small convoy sent carrying a banner of peace was start.

Byleth cursed softly at her desk as she worked, wiping a hand over her mouth.

It felt like they were steps away from a cascading disaster, of war returning, and Byleth was on a timer. Her sense of control over affairs would soon slip as her health and the impending birth eclipsed all else in her mind. She could only set up as much as she could, planting the seeds for peace and order throughout the continent, before she left. Funding here, her seal there, a statement of support sent to the right hands, all in the name of pushing things in the right direction.

While Archbishop was an important position, she had no inflated sense of her importance. The king, the lords, the clergy, and the commoners all had their own parts to play, not dependent on the figurehead that sat in the archbishop's chair.

The image of Seteth on that chair with his gentle smile and his pragmatism danced in her head, sending a blush across her face.

“Stop thinking about that,” she breathed.

It was a rosy picture, but not grounded in reality. A sudden change in leadership like that would rattle people: the right-hand man suddenly taking charge when the leader disappears under unknown circumstances. She would be putting enormous pressure on him by leaving.

Byleth swallowed around the guilt as she patted her stomach and turned her focus back to the Alliance correspondence.

It would have been a simple thing to sign and pass along if the name of the family involved didn't give her pause. It was a perfunctory notice, alerting the Church that previously seized from the Gloucester county was to be carved up amongst the families who were loyal to Fhirdiad during the war. A small piece would remain with Count Gloucester, as his heir in Lorenz had been so badly crippled during Myrrdin and all but evaporating the family’s influence in the area. All it required was her signature, giving her blessing to the act.

Byleth frowned, thinking of the pompous boy she had known and how horrifically he had been injured on the bridge. She had been sure that he had died, if the blood-soaked armor and how his eyes had rolled into the back of his head were any indication. He would be no threat anymore, no matter what amount of healing magic was used on him.

The land offered to them was small, on one of the poorer, more barren homesteads. They would struggle there, with few harvests and sickly animals.

Despite everything, she couldn’t condone it. While the distribution of their land to the surrounding regions was justified, this was the clear dealing of punishment on the traitorous family, with no regard for a sickly son or the growing daughters that were still under Lord Gloucester’s care.

Byleth didn’t sign. Instead, she took some paper and scrawled a note to return to the Alliance.

_I insist on leniency on the Gloucester family. Their crimes were great, but the Goddess is forgiving. I will defer my judgment to the lords and ladies of the former Alliance, but the Goddess sees your actions as she sees theirs._

She stamped the note with her official seal and set it aside.

One task down, forty to go.

* * *

The fifth of many snowstorms rolled over the monastery.

Now, all of the work done to shore up firewood supplies during the fall months made a lot of sense and why it was a line item that was brought up constantly during her meetings. While Byleth kept a fire going in her office at all times, sometimes the cold was so unbearable that she would take her papers and move from her desk to her couch to work.

It was definitely getting to that point at that particular day, as she started on the sizable stack of papers the couriers left in the morning.

She sighed, shuffling through the short stack of letters and bundles of paper. Byleth wrinkled her nose and shuffled through them again in confusion. Half of them were addressed to Seteth, not to her. The couriers were usually good about sorting the mail. What was addressed to Byleth was given to her, the rest distributed to their appropriate recipients.

She pursed her lips. The couriers wouldn’t be around for several hours to pick up what Byleth was to send out and she didn’t know how urgent it was that Seteth receive these letters in a timely manner.

She stood and grabbed her coat and gloves. Sure, it would probably be fine to wait until one of the dining staff came around to drop off her meal so she could exchange it, but part of her wanted the excuse to take a walk, despite the cold.

Walk around, and see Seteth, if she was going to be honest with herself. Walking in itself was a becoming a difficulty, so she wouldn’t be just having a walk unless there was a reason.

In an afterthought, she wrapped a scarf around her face and stepped into the bitter chill. The groundskeepers had clearly been out recently, since the bulk of the snow had been cleared away from her front door and the path to the rest of the monastery was clear with the exception of very recent snowfall.

Fat snowflakes floated down from the sky, which was a welcome change from the sharp, whipping snowfalls that had plagued the monastery in the days prior.

Byleth stuffed one hand into her pocket and tucked the stack of mail close to her chest as she ducked into the relative warmth of the monastery halls. The clergy she passed nodded in respect, interrupting the warming magic they whispered into their hands. That was one spell the Byleth should have taken the time to learn, but her lessons in magic had been tabled for the hundred other things she had to deal with.

Maybe, she could carve out some time to learn in later in the evening. That was, if she could manage to keep her eyes open after she had finished her daily tasks.

She shook her head to herself as she climbed the steps and wandered through the hallway of staff offices, stopping at Seteth’s office. The door was closed and there was no light to be seen in the crack under the door. It wasn’t too surprising, as she did not remember any sort of fireplace or furnace in his office. It would be prohibitively cold in there, making his joints ache as he worked.

Ignoring how her pulse raced a little, she turned and made her way to his quarters.

The times she had been to his private quarters were far and few. Especially now, with her child growing inside of her and the urge to spill her secret getting stronger and stronger by the day. It was probably for the best that she stayed away. His rooms were cozy in a way that Byleth’s weren’t, full of books and old schematics and designs for weapons that always seemed vaguely familiar to Byleth but she could never quite place them.

To share that space was to invite things that she wasn’t ready to address.

It wasn’t just about the child. It was about everything, starting from when she first set foot in Garreg Mach. She watched him die. Goddess, how many times she had to break time to save him, to make it so they could see some semblance of a future. She spent an entire war gambling with divine power and she just barely managed to save them all.

At least, that could be something he would understand. As a man of faith, he would understand the power that was granted to her. She clawed her way out of the darkness, though she did not fulfill the purpose that Rhea had meant for her, whatever it was.

It would maybe soften the shock when she eventually told him that she was pregnant by some similar divine miracle. Or, he could just not believe her. It wasn’t like she could prove that she could turn back time anymore. She just needed to drop the disguise spell and it would be painfully apparent that she was pregnant.

Looking down at the bundle of mail in her arms, she wondered if maybe it was better if she just had someone deliver this on her behalf.

 _Too late now_ , her mind supplied. The cold had already sunk into her knees, making them ache as she walked through the halls.

She stopped at the end of the hall when she saw that his door was ajar, light spilling from the room. Uncharacteristic, but the sound that came from behind the door had all other thoughts grinding to a halt.

A soft song filtered down the hallway, clear and unworried about potential eavesdroppers. It carried her forward, leaving her unsure if this was real or just a wonderful hallucination. Byleth stepped up to the door, peeking inside to see Seteth moving about the room with a purpose that Byleth couldn’t identify.

He was singing to himself, just loud enough to be clearly heard.

_Roll ye ships, roll ye ships o’er the boundless sea  
On the breath of the rising sun  
Weep no more, weep no more, weep no more for me  
For I am homeward bound_

Byleth pressed closer, pushing the door open just slightly, thankful that she didn't accidentally interrupt the song. Her eyes flickered closed. She had been witness to many beautiful and moving choral and solo performances in the cathedral. Everything that came before, even eavesdropping on Rhea’s song, paled before this.

It was a strong and confident baritone, not wavering for a moment.

_Homeward bound, homeward bound, I am homeward bound  
From the sea, the silent sea  
To the hills of my homeland, I shall return  
For I am homeward bound_

The song faded to nothing, leaving silence and the faintest crackle of burning wood in its wake. Byleth didn’t need to open her eyes to know that Seteth had seen her. She stayed still for a moment longer, lingering in that strange peace, before opening her eyes.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you cry, you know.”

Byleth hummed softly. She wasn’t sure how much of that was true. She must have cried near him after Jeralt died. Then again, she was so stuck in her own mind at the time that she couldn't remember even if she wanted to.

“You have a lovely singing voice,” Byleth said. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard it more often during our ceremonial hymns.”

He actually blushed. “I feel it is distracting, to have the stern advisor to the Archbishop singing so loudly.”

She wasn’t going to argue, but she knew that his voice would definitely encourage others to sing louder during ceremonies.

He cleared his throat. “How may I be of assistance, Archbishop?”

She glanced down at the stack of papers in her arms and tried not to feel disappointed at the use of her title.

“This was left on my desk, but it was addressed to you. I guess our couriers didn’t properly sort our incoming correspondences.”

She set the letters on his desk and paused. She couldn't help but stare at the book of fables that once again took up space at the center of Seteth’s chair.

“That's the book Teller gave you, yes?” Byleth asked. She ran her fingers over the gold-leaf. The binding looked fragile, so she didn’t try to open it. “I wish I had thought of it, so I could have been the one to obtain it for you.”

Seteth cleared his throat. “It’s not a hobby I advertise. I don’t fault you for not knowing.”

“It seems like I know very few things about you,” Byleth murmured.

Seteth gestured to one of the couches and she sat down gratefully. He sat on the couch across from her, the low table keeping some space between them.

“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said. “You always seem to know my favorite kinds of tea and my preferred meals.”

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “And that you’re a wyvern rider and prefer use of lance and axe more than other weapons. That seems to cover all of it.”

“And I trust you with the knowledge of who Flayn is to me. After that, there really isn’t much to know about me.”

She nodded, suddenly having the urge to change the subject. They always seemed to dance around something deeper, but it was never the right time. “Would you be able to pen a fable and send it to Brigid? Or perhaps just one of the ones you are working on? Something to inspire bravery, maybe reconciliation”

News from Ashe and Petra was sparse, but it was clear that both were struggling through this process. Dimitri was anxious to solidify an agreement, to tie up a loose end that remained after the war.

“You worry for your students?” Seteth wondered.

“I do. Not only for their safety, but in the hopes that ride on them for true reconciliation with Brigid. Fódlan has not been kind of their people over the centuries, especially after partial Imperial occupation. They do not trust us and I don’t blame them.”

Edelgard had spit venom until the very end, steeped in her ideals. There was always some kernel of truth with her words, no matter how much they stung.

“I must admit, our policies were for the benefit of the Church only, of influence and conversion,” Seteth admitted.

“It was wrong of us, then. We cannot enforce our will on others,” Byleth said firmly. “It has to be by choice, or we will end up in the same place with the Adrestian Empire.”

Seteth looked chastised, which surprised Byleth. She wondered how strict Rhea had been in regards to these matters. Would she have given no quarter to the non-believers outside of Fódlan’s borders?

“I couldn’t help but be relieved when you recruited Petra to your class. She proved a valuable ally in the war.”

“More than that. She remains a faithful friend to me and to Fódlan.”

They were silent for a moment.

“I must admit, I envy her skill with a sword,” Seteth allowed.

Byleth bit back a laugh, knowing how Seteth had steered clear from using swords during training.

Her swordsmanship skills had faded slightly as she performed her weekly trainings. The ruthless and, at times, sloppy techniques that had ruled her fighting style had to be put aside. She couldn’t accidentally harm herself if the sword shattered in her hand when striking metal or stone.

She dabbled in archery in the meantime, feeling clumsy like some of her students must have when she taught them. Her arrows eventually found bullseyes after some practice. Ashe and Bernadette could shoot circles around her any day of the week, but at least she had a new weapon under her belt.

“Should I make some tea? It’s getting a bit late in the day and dinner may be more appropriate, though.”

Byleth shook her head, feeling like she couldn’t take a meal even if she tried.

“No, tea is fine.”

Seteth rose and started heating a pot of water. She watched him, glancing away whenever his eyes turned to her direction. Like a child with a crush. If she could kick herself for her meandering, romantic thoughts, she would.

“Is this acceptable to you?” Seteth asked.

She jumped as he suddenly spoke up, but recovered just as he turned to face her. He held up a package of tea for her to see. It was that same spiced blend from so long ago, from Teller’s shop.

“Is this the same tea I bought you?” she asked.

Seteth looked startled for a moment before glancing away sheepishly.

“Ah, no. I have since bought more tea from Teller. The nights are cold and there is much to do.”

She cleared her throat, remembering suddenly that she actually couldn't drink that tea, even if she wanted to.

“Perhaps, some chamomile tea for me, please?”

He raised his brow. “That is a strange choice. I did not know that you liked that sort of tea, Archbishop.”

She shrugged, cramming the truth far in the recesses of her mind. Her reading told her enough that she wasn’t supposed to drink strong teas when pregnant, but it wasn’t like she could tell him that.

“It is hard on my stomach and keeps me awake long into the night. While I also have work to do, I would like to sleep before the sun rises the next day,” she explained flippantly.

Seteth looked like he was going to challenge her on that, but instead turned back to the steaming teacups, breathing something unintelligible to himself.

He handed her the teacup and she took it with a small smile. It was brewed perfectly, of course. He sat back down across from her, regarding her with watchful eyes.

“I see you have been having difficulty tolerating the Fódlan winter. Surely you had become used to such harsh conditions during your past work as a mercenary.”

She winced. “I _am_ used to them, but this winter is particularly difficult. There is much to do, as you said.”

“What makes this winter any different from the ones past?”

She opened her mouth and shut it. Would it be easier to deflect or to tell some of the truth?

“These past weeks have been difficult,” she admitted. “With the long, dark nights, I cannot help but think about the war and all of the death that surrounded us.”

A deflection, as true as it was. The weather made it too easy for her to sink into melancholy thoughts.

“I understand. It is hard to look for the brightness when everything is dark and dreary.” Seteth paused and gestured with his teacup. “It makes times like this all the more special. It reminds us that we are not alone in the darkness.”

His tentative smile was enough to chase away the sorrowful thoughts from her mind for a moment. She wished she had been able to see his face when he was singing. It would have been something of beauty.

Then she remembered how she had seen his skull split, arrows sticking out of his chest, mere moments of horror before she could undo it all. Her stomach sank.

“Sometimes, I think about what could have happened if my father hadn’t died, or if we lost at For Merceus or at Enbarr, or Myrrdin, for that matter.”

Lorenz falling from his horse flashed before her eyes again, how it easily could have been Sylvain or Ingrid, or any of her students.

“It does you no good to dwell on such things,” he replied. “What is done is done. The war is over.”

“It feels like it isn’t,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

Byleth set her teacup down and stood.

Upon seeing the questioning expression on Seteth’s face, she wandered closer to the fire and allowed the heat to seep into her skin.

The tea was supposed to make her feel calm, but it only seemed to do the exact opposite. Maybe it was her companion or the room they sat in. Or, it was the whole situation they were in. Soon, they would be inundated with reports of plague and famine in pockets of Fódlan. They could help, but ultimately could do nothing. All of the preparations she could make would be for nothing. Her child would grow and continue to grow without heed for the many things Byleth needed to do. The nightmares would not stop, no matter how many hours of sleep they stole from her.

“I don't think you would understand,” she breathed.

“Try me.”

Her eyes snapped to him, realizing that he had risen from his seat to step closer to her.

She soldiered on, pushing down the sudden nervousness that fluttered in her throat. “I am the Goddess’s chosen, even before the war began. Every time my students were injured, it was my fault. I was responsible, outside of being professor or a military commander. Every time when I _almost_ couldn’t save them haunts me.”

If only he knew how many times that she had seen Flayn die. He would be haunted just like her. She wouldn’t burden him with her memories, of the Death Knight and bandits and rogue holy men and Empire soldiers.

“We survived the war. We must do our best to live now that peace has come.”

The words were meant to be comforting. Instead, she wanted to shake him. She wanted to scream and forget about sparing his feelings. How many times did she watch him die? He died to save her, Flayn, her students. He died useless deaths that she undid over and over until everything was just right, that everyone would live to see another sunrise. She killed a little part of her peace every time she saved them.

Her lip trembled a little, knowing now that she couldn’t turn back time while her child grew inside of her. His life, like everyone else she ever knew, was up to the mercy and cruelty of fate.

“I wasn’t able to save my father, no matter how strong or fast I was, and I always fear that the day would come that I wouldn’t be able to save you or anyone. I’m afraid that one day I will wake up and I will be alone, forever. It—it’s silly to think about.”

Seteth shook his head, ducking just a touch closer. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”

They had gravitated close enough that she could see the shadows play over his features. Close enough that she could see how his eyes darted around, unable to focus on her face. His eyelashes weren’t quite green like his hair, not quite black.

“My students are far from me, where I cannot protect them. The only one I can protect now is…” She trailed off and gestured helplessly at the space between them.

How many still hated them? How many still wanted them dead, their work ground in rubble and cast into the wind? What would happen when she was unable to protect him, when all she could do was protect herself and her child? What if she couldn’t manage to do that either?

“Byleth?”

The word should have jolted her out of the haze, reminding her who she was and where they were. Instead, something slightly unhinged had her standing where she was. She swallowed, watching his face.

“I—uh,” she whispered.

She cursed her ineloquence. How her mind raced, but none of the words would come out. She could lie and dodge and pretend with her words all she liked. She wanted to reach out and touch and find some comfort in something other than words.

Her child, she was forgetting about the fragile thing she carried around with her with every step. And yet... Her child was an unwitting gift, and Byleth found herself unwilling to let it go, holding it close. It was different to reach out and take. She could grab onto his shirt and pull him closer. It would be easy and selfish and it would likely ruin everything.

Byleth swallowed, making a tiny choked noise in shock and discomfort in their collective inaction. If he heard, he didn't react and, more importantly, wasn’t chased away by the sound.

He stood, close, too close.

While Byleth was sure they both moved at the same time, tiny shifts of movement, she pressed forward before she could lose her nerve. There was an instant where she saw Seteth’s eyes widen in shock when she touched her lips to his.

It was quick and innocent and it lit a fire in her chest. And then, as quickly as the flames appeared, they were snuffed out in horror of what she had done.

She pulled back with the softest sound, trying to stifle her panic, expecting disgust and finding none. Seteth watched her with the same gentleness from when he first saw her in the doorway, but there was a blush on his cheeks as well.

“Ah—I see,” he murmured.

Byleth stared at him, suddenly unable to find any words.

The rejection she expected wasn’t there, to her relief. The kiss felt so right and familiar that she almost forgot to acknowledge that warmth of attraction that coiled in her chest. In another life, it would have been so. They would have been sharing kisses since the war’s end, maybe even before it. The child inside of her would have a father.

Fate would not have it. She could still indulge, for a moment. Byleth chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to not think too far into how Seteth's eyes drifted over her face. He really did look handsome with the fireplace lighting his features.

“We will need to talk about this, won’t we?” Byleth said, finally breaking the silence.

Seteth smiled and it lit up his entire face. It was almost heartbreaking to watch, how happy this seemed to make him. Byleth wanted to kiss him again.

“I believe so.”

He stepped back half a step, putting a little more distance between them. Months ago, this would have rankled Byleth to no end. Now, she was grateful that he was being chivalrous, giving her an out when she didn’t even need to ask for one.

Now was not the time for another kiss, thought she yearned for it, now that she knew that it was like.

They just needed to talk about it.

* * *

She left his quarters minutes later with a soft goodbye. There was little else to say after that.

They didn’t talk about the kiss the next time they met or the time after that, but, something had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -jazz hands-  
> The song Seteth sings is called “Homeward Bound” but idk who composed it. I sang in choir during high school so I transcribed the lyrics from home video but I can’t find who the OG composer was. Sucks that it shares a name with a popular live-action movie too so that makes searching near impossible…  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone who commented and kudos!   
> I’ve been working on both Big Bangs and zines for FE3H, so writing for this fic has taken a bit of a backseat, but I am still working on it! Please follow me on Twitter for zine and BB fic previews and stuff!  
> Cheers!

She dreamt about that kiss more often than she wanted to admit.

Those dreams were a lot more pleasant than the ones of shadows and grasping hands and heartbroken sobbing.

They nestled right next to her hazy dreams of cradling a child in her arms. She could never quite see her child’s face, but she knew that it was her child. Those particular dreams always brought a smile to her face when she awoke.

Dreams of the kiss would shake her awake with her lips tingling and her insides liquid. Her hands would sneak under her clothes during those nights and in her exhaustion afterwards she would almost forget to feel shame.

Almost.

* * *

The end of the year fast approached.

It stayed prohibitively cold, but it didn’t seem to stifle anyone’s spirits. The groundskeepers had to work overtime to keep the path to the cathedral clear of snow and ice. Nobody wanted to break their necks trying to get to a ceremony.

She was reduced to being very purposeful with her movements to keep the waddling from being too pronounced. It was easily excused by mentioning old wounds and the cold affecting her joints. Her knee creaked almost constantly due to the weather and the extra weight of her pregnancy.

It was very much real. She was very pregnant, but there was still a while to go.

In one of her side closets, she had a knapsack that she slowly packed with clothes and other essentials in the event she needed to leave the monastery. It was something that never quite left her mind.

Telling Seteth also never left her mind. She was getting closer to the point of no return, while she was now able to keep up appearances fairly well. She couldn’t stand up for too long at cathedral ceremonies, but, as Archbishop, she could generally sit whenever she wanted to. The knee excuse went a long way for her, but there was always a chance that she would be in a position where her excuses would be painfully transparent.

“It seems like your mind is elsewhere this evening.”

Byleth blinked to attention where she sat at her desk. Seteth smiled softly at her and she immediately felt guilty. Her mind definitely wandered a lot during their recent meetings, wandering, sometimes forgetting. Seteth was kind to her, leading her back on track when she forgot a word or an upcoming event.

“I cannot help but be a bit sleepy from the cold,” she said.

Not a lie, since she decided to wear one less layer than she normally did for this meeting. She didn’t know why she did, but the disguise spell made her stomach flat, so she didn’t have to worry about him seeing anything. It just made her colder and her silhouette less bulky and more curvaceous.

Okay, maybe she did know why she made the choice when meeting with him.

“Would you like my coat?” he asked.

Byleth opened her mouth to refuse, face heating up, but Seteth had already risen from his chair. She watched, feeling strangely voyeuristic as he shrugged off his navy-blue coat. Were his shoulders always that strong and broad?

“Here, let me.”

She kept herself very still as he set his coat around her shoulders. His hands, his body, lingered there in her space.

“Thank you, Seteth,” Byleth murmured.

The moment ended as shockingly as it began, but the significance of it, like the warmth of his hands, stayed for a long time.

The meeting continued and she did feel warmer in more ways than one.

When he left for the night, the coat was still around her shoulders. Really, she did have time to call out after him. But, if the cold chill that met him as soon as he stepped outside wasn’t enough to remind him, he must have left it with her for a reason.

She set it on her desk chair and let her hand linger on the fabric. It felt like a kiss, almost.

Soon. She would tell him soon.

* * *

That night, her dreams met her with a long, long hallway full of dancing figures, familiar with its bright lights, sparkling wine, and an excited orchestra.

She didn’t think much of the White Heron Ball, as memories of it were subsumed by the events before it and after.

Most of the people she saw were students from different classes, younger students who she never really spoke to or made connections with. They all blurred together, with the exception of one figure that made its way through the crowd.

“There you are.”

Byleth gaped at Jeralt as he approached, still in his usual Captain’s garb.

“You’re back early from your mission,” Byleth said.

He shrugged. “What can I say? Couldn’t miss this.”

Byleth wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but there was a sparkle in his eye. He looked remarkably out of place in the polished hall, with everyone in their starched uniforms.

“Come on, you’re not gonna give your old man a dance?”

Byleth smiled before taking his hand and walking onto the dancefloor. “I didn’t know you danced. It’s not like you joined any of the mercenaries when they danced around the fire.”

Jeralt smirked. “Well, you know me. I have to maintain an image.”

He did dance really well, better than anyone Byleth had ever danced with. She supposed the footwork was only natural since he was such a good fighter. Did he dance with her mother in the same way?

“It looks like your band of brats have come into their own. The princeling seems confident, though he doesn’t have eyes for his dance partner at all,” Jeralt said.

Byleth hummed quietly. She couldn’t see Dimitri from where they were dancing, but she believed him. Her students were all too busy, likely trying to avoid her watchful eye anyway.

“I’m proud of them. It’s been a long several months,” Byleth said.

Lord Lonato, Miklan, Remire Village, all battles that dealt injuries, physical and mental. so painfully to her students.

“Things will only get more difficult, unfortunately.”

A chill ran up her spine as a memory poked its way into the scene. The sound of metal biting into flesh, the unfeeling patter of rainfall.

Jeralt’s hand tightened on hers. “Now, now. This is not the time for that. I see you’ve caught the eye of Rhea’s fussy advisor. And he’s caught yours.”

Byleth blushed. Of course, if anyone would have been able to pick something out like that, it would be Jeralt. “How could you tell?”

He twirled her around again. She couldn’t see Seteth in the crowd, but Jeralt was always good at picking out the smallest details, even in large crowded spaces.

“Well, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that before. It was an educated guess.”

They danced and danced, everything a blur around them. “I will fight him on the training ground if I have to, to prove his worth,” he drawled.

“Father,” Byleth warned.

Was this what other people her age had to deal with when speaking with their parents? How did she not notice before?

“I doubt I need to fight for my child’s honor. You can fight for yourself.” His expression softened. “I’m proud of you, By. I know I don’t tell you that enough, but I am.”

Her eyes immediately stung. It was otherworldly, but so real at the same time. He was proud of her and that was all she needed to hear.

“I know there is someone else you would like to dance with. Now, go on.”

Before she could think to say goodbye, he twirled her before sending her onward.

The ground turned from stone to wood, the sky opening up to blue and white. She blinked at the sunlight, the sound of ocean waves filling her ears. A ship? Why was she on a ship? She had never even been on a ship before.

“We’re a long way off, now!”

Byleth turned towards the voice, familiar in a different way.

Seteth, in a loose shirt and pants, stood with his back to her, staring towards the bow of the ship. She had stumbled into a different time, a different world. It was too fantastical to be real.

“A long way off?” Byleth echoed.

Something brushed against her, the pat-pat of feet slapping against the wood of the deck.

“Baba!”

A child with long green hair sprinted in the space between Byleth and Seteth, grabbing at Seteth’s pant leg.

The laugh that escaped Seteth’s mouth was something that Byleth wished she could bottle and enjoy for the rest of her days as he ducked down and grabbed the child around the waist, hoisting them up.

Just as the child turned to face her, the light and warmth disappeared.

* * *

Byleth gasped and stumbled as the dream dissolved, startled to feel surrounded by cold air instead of the warmth of her bedroom, on her feet inside of lying in her bed. Disorientation had her head spinning as she took in the barely-lit alcoves and stone walls.

Byleth pinched herself, wondering if she found herself in a dream of a dream. Everything remained very solid and clear.

“Oh,” she whispered.

She was in the middle of the Holy Tomb, surrounded by stone caskets. She had been here before to find the Shield of Seiros. The magic guarding the place had been neutralized, so she only had the cold to worry about as she stood in the cavernous temple. It had been a difficult battle, fighting the wraiths and automatons that guarded the Relic. She thought she had left the place behind, no reason to go there now that the war was over and Sothis was gone.

Why did she walk all the way down here in her sleep? Goddess alive, she was cold. In her sleep, she thought ahead well enough to wear a coat—Seteth’s coat, she realized—but her slippers did little to protect her feet from the stone.

How did she get there without anyone stopping her? Part of her was glad that no one had seen her, because she had removed the disguise spell before bed and her stomach was painfully apparent under her sleeping garments.

She cast the spell again, in case anyone did find her, as unlikely as it was. It made her feel safer somehow, as if the phantoms that still lurked would be less inclined to attack her if they thought she was without child.

Despite her better judgment, she walked further into the tomb. If she walked down here, after months of not giving the place much thought, it must have been for a reason.

Maybe she had been distracted recently. It had been so cold and she couldn’t help but constantly worry about her health. That, and trying to navigate the sudden gauntlet that she threw in front of herself by kissing her most trusted advisor. The former was completely unavoidable; the latter she fully did to herself.

She turned her face into the coat collar and took a deep breath. She could smell pine needles and spiced tea and something musky.

Goddess, why was she thinking about these things when she was in a tomb? Sothis would have teased her mercilessly if she had caught her mind wandering in such a place.

Byleth approached the throne at the end of the tomb. Sothis was already gone by the time Rhea brought Byleth down there. It was a kindness to Sothis, Byleth supposed. It would have been jarring to see one’s own grave. Byleth’s grave, albeit temporary, had been rubble and river silt at the bottom of a cliff.

Rhea had been so disappointed when Byleth sat on the throne and Sothis didn’t return. Byleth was glad that fighting broke out before she had felt the urge to explain that Sothis was gone. The failed ceremony never came up again. It had been too late, with the onset of the war, Rhea’s disappearance and subsequent infirmity, Byleth appointment to Archbishop. Rhea had clearly given up and Byleth wasn’t going to give voice to it.

It was better this way. No one needed to know.

Still, she was curious. She walked up the steps and regarded the seat. If she had sat on the throne when Sothis was still partially separate from her, would she have burst out of Byleth, becoming her own separate entity? Or would it have just been the same impotent moment? Now that she was pregnant, would something change if she sat on the throne now?

Before she could even think to try to sit down, a quiet rumble shook through the room, making her breath catch in her chest. The barest wind swept through the cavernous space, making the flames dance. A curtain of dust fell from the walls before everything went silent and still again.

She touched the stone armrest for support and glanced behind it.

The falling dust repealed intricate patterns stretched up the wall, symbols of a long-dead language. Byleth walked around the throne and stepped closer, trying to discern any meaning from the symbols. None were recognizable, with the exception of a few that looked familiar to symbols drawn in margins of some of the Church’s older ceremonial books.

She wondered if there was any way for them to be translated or if the language was lost to time. Maybe they would have answers to the many questions she sought about herself and her child.

She pressed her hand against the wall and shuddered at how cold it was. While she really didn’t want to linger for too long before she turned into an ice sculpture, this was something she wanted to at least give a cursory glance at before she inevitably became too busy to return.

It wasn’t like she could just go to the Holy Tomb whenever she wanted without raising any questions. Or, maybe she could. Rhea never told her anything about that, so it was a guessing game at that point.

She ran her fingers across the dusty stone, walking along the length of the wall before returning to the center. Finally, she noticed one irregularity. One spot was smooth, unlike the roughness that covered the rest of the stone edifice. She gently dusted the area to find a slight divot carved into the wall.

Byleth hummed aloud as she stared at it and pressed her thumb into it. The piece gave way almost instantly and the dust shook off of the wall as something moved behind it.

She stepped back as a rectangular outline formed and sunk into the wall. It slid away, revealing an antechamber. It was a small space, mere feet between the walls and the casket that sat in the middle. Byleth stepped inside, feeling strangely claustrophobic, glancing back towards the exit as if the door would immediately shut and seal her inside.

Alcoves, somehow still lit despite the obvious lack of visitors, provided just enough light for Byleth to see the engraving across the stone lid.

“Sitri,” she muttered. She rubbed her fingers over the etched name in the stone.

Aloud, the name sounded so familiar. It was as if she had said that name a thousand times. Byleth knew no one by that name and it had never come up in any of the Church's texts of notable believers or the Goddess’s children who would be given such an honor as to be buried in the Holy Tomb.

And why in such a secretive place, away from the rest of the caskets? Was something hidden there, under the guise of being a casket, the same way the Sword of the Creator was?

Her feet, her unconscious mind, clearly brought her to that spot for a reason.

She glanced over her shoulder surreptitiously, sure that someone was going to jump out and attack. When nothing came, she moved to what she assumed was the head of the casket and pushed at the lid.

It moved after some effort, revealing the casket’s contents to the faint candlelight.

Byleth caught her breath.

While she was expecting a skeleton or a weapon or any number of things, she wasn’t expecting to see a body, a very whole, very alive-looking body.

This woman, Sitri, had long, green hair and frail-looking features. She looked peaceful, as if in sleep. She also looked very familiar. She wasn’t one of the clergy that Byleth passed by in the monastery. She wasn’t a mage who fought alongside her in the war. They could be nothing that connected them together, but Byleth felt utterly stricken by the sight, as if coming across the corpse of a close friend on the battlefield.

Sitri’s hands were clasped over her chest. Even her nails were well-manicured. Byleth reached down, shaking, to wrap her hand around one of those thin wrists. No pulse beat under her fingers, the body ice-cold and utterly unmoving.

The lack of a pulse didn’t mean much. Byleth would know. Her silent heart didn’t mean that she wasn’t alive. Even then, Byleth knew that this Sitri was dead. The ghostly pallor, how there was a faint layer of dust over her features and how her white dress had faded to yellow on the edges.

This woman had been dead for a long time. Even then, the natural decay never took hold of the body, despite the embalming that must have occurred after she died. Byleth wanted to shake her shoulder just to see if maybe she would awaken, just to see if the magic kept the decay away or if death itself refused to touch her.

She didn’t know what kind of magic this was and she didn’t want to know. It made her feel nauseous and inexplicably sorrowful. The woman was so beautiful and, even in death, Byleth knew she would have been kind too.

It hurt. It felt so wrong that she was surrounded by stone. She looked like she would be happier resting in a flowerbed, under warm sunlight.

She wanted to crawl in and lie down next to her.

_Go, little one. They must not know what you have seen_.

Byleth jerked away as the voice echoed in her head.

_Go._

She didn’t need to be told again. Byleth scrambled for the casket lid, struggling to push it back over the casket to seal it. Dimitri’s crest would be helpful right about now, all of that Goddess-divined strength.

Stone thudded together with a very final sound. She couldn’t come back.

Byleth tucked her coat tightly around herself and fled to the ground floor of the monastery. Her body shook from the cold and fear, feeling like some ghostly hand would grab her by the scruff of the neck and fling her into one of those caskets, leaving her to become an unrotting corpse like Sitri.

Every step she took, every turn down the shadowy halls to her quarters, lessened that fear, but the heaviness of an unseen gaze still remained.

Finally, she burst into her room, gasping for air as the muted warmth from her dim fireplace started to thaw her skin. She flung off Seteth’s coat and set it on the couch. Goddess, it wasn’t right for her to take it in the first place.

She threw some logs into the fire, adding magic in a desperation to get the fire back to a roaring heat. She wanted to throw herself into the fire to get warm. Instead, she dragged over her duvet to the rug in front of the fire, wrapped herself up, and sat down on the floor. The rug had soaked up some heat to her relief.

After that whole adventure, she should have been kept awake by the adrenaline of it all. Instead, a weariness sunk into her, making everything slow and heavy. The warmth and the newly-found feeling of safety pulled at her eyes.

She would sleep and she would awaken, not encased by cold stone or freezing air.

Byleth didn’t dream of kisses. She dreamt of sleeping in a box, forever, with a woman’s voice softly humming a lullaby.

* * *

She awoke with a crick in her neck and back, covered in a fine sheen of sweat from overheating, but she knew exactly where she was. It felt like a dream, but she knew better.

“Sitri,” Byleth whispered.

The name felt comfortable on her tongue. It felt like gentle fingers on her forehead, pushing away her bangs from her face. It felt like warmth and protection and she felt so, so bereft.

Byleth wiped at her face, finding it damp with sweat and tears.

It felt like loss, but she didn't quite know who she has lost. The woman was familiar, but she didn’t _know_ her.

Why did she feel so sad? It weighed down on her, this aching loneliness without a name. The woman did look very familiar. The thought that she was somehow related to Rhea or Seteth was quickly squashed. Aside from the hair, there was no real resemblance.

Maybe it was because the woman looked so young and beautiful, cut down by violence or illness. It was truly a shame.

Regardless of the reason—Byleth eventually chalked it up to exhaustion and pregnancy—she met the day with a lack of willingness to do much of anything but just…wallow in her unnamed emotions.

Byleth only left her impromptu blanket nest to boil a pot of water for some tea and fetch a tin of cookies and a package of jerky. She could imagine the tutting she would have received if anyone caught her like this, not a vegetable in sight.

“Sothis, help me.”

It took until pale noontime light filtered through the windows for her to remember the significance of the day. Everything grounded down to a halt, stealing the breath from her lungs. All of her plans, all of her will to chase away the funk that came from her impromptu adventure the night before, evaporated.

The 26th day of the Ethereal Moon. Her father died that day, so many years ago. She had forgotten. While her father had been a constant thought in her mind, more so the regret of his loss, she had forgotten that today was the anniversary of his death.

He was buried, but his gravestone was likely covered in another half-foot of snow. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to go, though it riddled her with guilt.

Byleth buried herself back in her blanket, ignoring the discomfort in her body as she twisted this way and that to keep herself in the warmth.

She doubted that he thought he would ever be a grandfather. He would never know. The thought made her miserable.

“Damn it,” she cursed wetly.

Her childhood memories were always hazy, even after Sothis disappeared.

She remembered holding a sword for the first time and Jeralt praising her. When she was little, too small to keep up with the rest of the company, he would let her sit on his shoulders. She derived none of the childish pleasure that a normal child would have, but, in hindsight, she could appreciate that Jeralt tried all he could.

He did hide many things from her, leaving until his death for her to even begin uncovering her past.

Maybe he knew the woman in the tomb from when he used to serve at Garreg Mach? She didn't recall seeing the name in his journal.

Why was she still thinking about this woman? She meant nothing to her.

She supposed it didn’t matter. What she did know was that she wasn’t going to leave her blankets for a long time.

* * *

A new day rose and she felt strangely hollow and electrified in the same breath. She stripped of her clothes, bathed in near-scalding water, and changed into fresh clothes.

She had spent a whole prior day on the floor, only leaving to get more food and water and to relieve herself.

What a waste. Jeralt would have been so disappointed.

Byleth peeked out her front door to see a wooden box, covered in frost, sat on the step. Opening it, she saw all of the letters and correspondences she should have been dealing with the day before, as well the current day’s mail. She brought it in, brow tight.

She needed to make up for all the time she spent wallowing.

The fire in her office roared as she set up her ink and quill on the coffee table next to the couch.

There were many missives from the various regions, offering happy wishes for the new year. She was already prepared with copies of perfunctory thanks and blessings.

Someone had obtained a printing press for the monastery, allowing the hymns and prayers to be printed en masse for services. Byleth didn't have the slightest clue on how to work the huge machine, but the prints were popular, so she wasn’t going to try to use it and accidentally break it. It was also beneficial now that the Church was shouldering a significant part of administration of the continent. Byleth didn’t have time to write all of the banal responses to these letters. She could already imagine what kind of cramp she would get in her wrist. She already had to deal with her knees creaking and her ankles swelling.

All she needed to do was pen the recipient's name, sign her own name, and place a seal on the letter.

She managed to churn out most of the responses by the time there was a knock at her door mid-morning.

Despite feeling annoyed that her rhythm was interrupted, it would be good to talk to another person. The nun at her door, holding a tray and yet another stack of letters, looked relieved when Byleth opened the door.

“Good morning, my Lady,” she greeted with a curtsy.

“Good morning,” Byleth replied. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’m sure it’s hard walking around with the weather like this.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s an honor, my Lady. Are you well?”

Byleth swallowed back panic, resisting the urge to glance down to make sure the disguise spell was still in place. “Why do you ask?”

The nun shuffled a little in place. “Well, you didn't answer the door or bring in any of the food we left for you yesterday. We were worried you were ill.”

Byleth shrugged. “I found myself consumed by spiritual meditation yesterday, so I didn’t hear the door. Thank you for your concern.”

The lie was acrid on her tongue, even worse was how the nun seemed to accept that truth so readily.

Seteth didn’t come calling, which bothered her a little. He must have tried to contact her the day before, only for her to not answer the door. Byleth couldn’t help but be a bit glad that he wasn’t so forceful that he would try to knock down her locked door to see where she was.

While their last meeting had been so pleasantly intimate, things were touchy since the kiss. They didn’t want to intrude on each other, forcing something artificial when they didn't know what the hell they were doing.

Even then, he should have returned to fetch his coat.

Byleth dutifully ate her dinner that evening and polished off more of the backlog of letters. Her fingers were cramped and stained with ink and flecks of wax, but she didn’t care.

When the monastery bell chimed a late hour, she set the box full of completed letters next to her door to pass to the courier the next day.

She made her bed and smoothed the covers perfectly. All that she had done that day to make up for the day before, and she still felt like something was missing.

It took her lying in her bed for mere seconds when she remembered exactly why she felt like she was forgetting something.

Today was the 27th day of the Ethereal Moon. She had missed Seteth’s birthday.

Byleth groaned into her pillow, guilt welling up. Figures, that she would forget something like that too.

He had been so kind to her during her birthday, giving her a lovely gift that still hung around her neck. She didn’t even think to return the favor.

Byleth sighed and got dressed. It only seemed right that she would keep up the theme of her wandering the monastery at night. At least, she was conscious for the journey to her destination: the kitchens.

Seteth didn’t like sweets, but she knew just what to make for him. With the winter season, the recipe and ingredients for gingersnaps were readily available.

The first batch was too spicy to the point that all she could taste were the ginger and cloves. Those she crushed up to feed to the birds that sometimes congregated outside her door.

The second was much better, filling the kitchens with their aroma. Once cooled, she packed them in a tin and returned to her quarters.

She slept with the smell of cookies in her nose.

* * *

The following morning, she called for Seteth and started getting ready.

Their usual outdoor tea spot was buried under the snow, so she cleared off the tea table and couches. She started a pot of water for some tea and made sure that the plate of cookies was nicely presented.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and read through a few letters—the contents of which she couldn’t remember even if asked.

In her message, she told him to arrive at eleven in the morning. The appointed hour slowly approached and already she could feel herself panic.

Cookies and tea were all well and good, but would she have been better off also calling for a brunch of sorts? She already ate a sizable breakfast, but Goddess knew she would get hungry again. Did he expect to share a meal with her and skipped his own breakfast in anticipation for it?

Since when did she care so much about whether he ate or not? He was a grown man and could take care of himself. But, she didn’t want to be discourteous.

She jumped up when there was a knock at the door, almost unbalanced by the extra weight in her abdomen.

Cursing herself, she tucked her coat around herself and shuffled to the door.

Her breath immediately caught, both at the freezing air that blasted in as soon as she opened the door, as well as at the man standing at her doorstep.

“Archbishop,” Seteth greeted with all of his usual urgency. “Byleth. You sent for me?”

She stood aside and let him step into her office. He wore a different coat to replace the one that still hung in her office. This one was black with familiar gold detailing and a slightly bulkier shape.

It was...really attractive.

Byleth forced herself to focus. She couldn’t let her mind wander like that, especially since this whole affair was because she had let something slip from her attention.

“I did. I—um missed your birthday, didn’t I?”

He stared at her. “Is this what this is about?”

Byleth nodded, suddenly feeling like she was too close to him where they stood in the entryway. She moved towards the tea table, gesturing weakly at it.

“Happy birthday,” she said, already feeling herself begin to ramble. “Belated birthday, of course. I didn’t have time to get you a gift, but I made you these.” She gestured again at the plate of cookies. “I also have some water ready for some tea.”

Confusion softened to a smile and Byleth felt herself relax a little.

“Thank you. This is a lovely gift.”

They sat across from each other, taking a teacup and some cookies.

“I’m sorry I didn’t celebrate with you on the day,” Byleth murmured over her teacup. “I’ve had a lot on my mind as of late.”

Seteth shook his head. “No need for apologies. I must admit, I didn’t remember my own birthday until one of the couriers brought flowers along with the morning correspondences.”

“Flowers?” Byleth echoed, ignoring how the pang of jealousy shot through her chest. She remembered giving Seteth flowers for his birthday in an afterthought during the war and having a belated tea after the month's campaign had ended.

“Yes, from the greenhouse keeper. It was a kind gesture.”

Byleth hummed. That could at least soothe any potential jealousy. The greenhouse keeper had only eyes for one of the seamstresses in the nearby town.

He continued, “I suppose you understand that we don’t have large celebrations for such things as your students did for each other's birthdays.”

“No dancing, no dueling, no horseback racing?” she quipped.

“Nothing like that.”

Byleth reached for another cookie. She actually did a fairly good job at making them.

“Any news from Flayn? I haven’t had time to send a letter, but I hear affairs in Almyra are going well.”

A muscle jumped in Seteth’s jaw and Byleth couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread form in her stomach.

“Yes, I recently received a letter from Flayn. The negotiations with Almyra are going well, but there was something else that I had hoped to speak with you regarding this.”

He stopped, looking to her in askance. She gestured for him to continue.

Seteth hesitated for a moment before sighing. “She is having a dalliance with Claude.”

Byleth almost inhaled her tea. “O—oh? Really?” she sputtered.

He eyed her as she cleared her throat. She refused to shift guiltily under his gaze.

“She had confided in you, yes?” he asked.

Well, that was straight to the point. While she didn’t know if Flayn had already told Seteth that she knew, there was no point in lying. Byleth sagged a little. “Yes. At the time, she didn’t know how serious it was. I suppose it must be serious if she’s telling you now.”

“Fairly serious,” Seteth said. “I don’t know if he intends to marry her. It would be politically expedient, since he is Alliance liaison and heir apparent to the Almyran throne.”

“Of course, but Claude wouldn’t do something like marry only for politics, no matter how clever the plot is.”

“Flayn has not had opportunities as most young women like her have to deal with the ideas of marriage and courtship.”

“As if that wasn’t your own doing,” she breathed.

He glared at her, but didn’t attempt to contradict her. Everyone knew how Seteth had beaten off any potential romantic partners with a proverbial stick. “I haven’t responded to the letter. My instincts tell me to demand that she come back to the monastery and send someone else to negotiate with Almyra.”

Byleth sighed. She couldn’t be too surprised that this was his first instinct. “It’s not as if we have delegates lining up to travel to Almyra in the dead of winter. Besides, Flayn has been successful for being our proxy there. To change the guard so suddenly when the Almyrans barely trust us to begin with would only set us back.”

“And Flayn’s feelings?” Seteth replied.

“She’s a grown woman. She has a home here if things don’t turn out with Claude. The doors will be open to her, but her returning should be her decision.” Byleth waved her hand in surrender. “In the end, this is a family matter; I shouldn’t be sticking my nose in it anyway.”

He nodded. “Very well. I will think over your advice.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The conversation meandered from there.

The literacy classes, while a great success, were paused for the winter months. It was already a difficulty getting people to come to the monastery for rituals and hymn recitals with the bad weather.

So much time and energy were devoted to monitoring the region for plague and famine. Already, they had to deploy healers to Northern Fódlan to contend with the ills that ravaged crippled villages. Heal who they could, and give dignified burials to those who they couldn’t save.

The lists of the dead passed through Seteth’s desk and were laid at the foot of the cathedral’s altar. Byleth never took the time to look through the scrolls that slowly piled up. She just knew it would make her feel helpless.

“The lists will only get longer until early into next year. It is as usual,” Seteth sighed.

“We have to do better for next year, and the year after that.”

“Perhaps classes for those who have ability in healing magic, since we have set the precedence for literacy classes?” Seteth suggested.

Byleth nodded. “Makes sense, since the parishes already have at least one clergyperson who has ability in healing magic.”

“It will also improve the Church’s image, if we go down the more selfish route.”

“We should send word now to all of the clergy who have the means of helping their respective towns. The more we can save, the better.”

Seteth smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, I have a meeting with some of the bishops today about that very same idea.”

She gaped at him. “Really?”

“That is a meeting that—oh my,” he started before glancing out the window towards the early afternoon sun. “Looks like I should get prepared for.”

“Do you need me to attend with you?” she asked, standing up and smoothing her coat. She wasn’t sure if she wanted more for him to agree or to refuse.

“No, that won’t be needed. Besides, I have more chance to get their agreement if the Archbishop has come to the same conclusion.”

He started towards the door and Byleth trailed after him after plucking his coat where it lay on her desk chair.

“Don’t forget this.” She held out the bundle. “You left it here after our last meeting.”

He stared at it, but made no move to take it from her. “Indeed, I did leave it.”

“You always wear it. Don’t you want it back, especially in this weather?” she asked.

His attention flitted between the coat and her face, his expression something she couldn’t quite place. “I intended it as a gift. Of course, you shouldn’t wear it around the monastery, might cause some gossip.”

“Oh.”

“I’m having another tailored for me, anyway. It’s no loss. Besides, I—,” he paused and shrugged with an obviously put-on carelessness. “I thought it appropriate.”

He wanted her to keep it, but not let anyone see that she had it? The implicit shame that danced between the lines soured her stomach.

They had only kissed once and in complete privacy. Was there so much gossip that she didn’t hear about that would only be fed by her being seen wearing the coat? Did he hear something and didn’t seek to squash the rumor? Was this his dirty, rebellious secret?

“Fine,” she muttered.

She held the coat close to her chest, as if to shield herself from whatever words would come next.

Any aloofness he tried to project fell away almost instantly. He regarded her, wide-eyed. “Have I upset you? Did I go too far with this?”

What could she even say?

“You have a meeting, Seteth,” she said, gently. “I shouldn’t be keeping you.”

A non-answer, putting walls up but leaving a door open. He looked downcast for a moment. One step forward, two steps back. That was how things would always be between them.

“Very well, Byleth. Thank you for the tea and cookies. It was very kind of you.”

For a long moment, they stood together at the entryway, Seteth’s hand on the doorknob. The door creaked as the knob turned and Byleth backed away before either of them could do something foolish.

The door was opening, with an untold number of eyes watching them.

“You’re welcome, Seteth.”

He stepped out into the afternoon air and he shut the door behind him. She immediately rested her forehead on the cold wood, wondering if he lingered at her doorstep or if he continued on without any feeling.

The baby kicked inside her, pulling her away from the thought. She rested her hand over her stomach as the spell fell away and revealed the bump to her eyes.

“You’re always there to remind me what is important, aren’t you?” Byleth murmured.

She had forgotten to even think about telling Seteth about the baby. She wasn’t sure if the sudden lack of looming guilt was a good thing or a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I was feeling rather maudlin while writing this chapter. As someone who has lost a parent, I really try to take stuff that deals with those topics seriously. Isn’t it unfortunate that Jeralt’s death is literally the day before Seteth’s birthday? That just sucks imo  
> Also, I say fuck that to the canon that the Church would reject the printing press or eyeglasses for that matter. Not in my fantasy Catholicism, thank you.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> So, whatcha think?  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I work in a clinic so days are long and difficult, even more so nowadays. Every kind word brings me more motivation to work on this story!  
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests or more love or whatever!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)  
> Cheers!


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